Lover Mine
by Jessibelle811
Summary: A Halloween/Samhain themed story. Sofia and her friends perform a Samhain ritual meant to call forth erotic dreams of their future husbands. Sofia thinks it's just a silly spell for a superstitious holiday. It won't actually work, right? M-rated Cedfia.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello my Pretties! And a happy All Hallow's Eve to you as we near the end of October. For my last Intoxication update I requested any ideas you guys might have regarding Halloween themes fics. I got a few bites. This story, oddly enough, wasn't one of them, but did come about because of a request I received. Lyra Lupin requested a Samhain (pronounced Sow-een or sow-ween) based fic. Samhain is the ancient Celtic celebration of the harvest and the death of the sun as the year moves into winter. This is NOT the fic I wrote her request. That one is called Into The Darkness and will be forthcoming. But while doing research for that fic, I came across a documentary on Amazon prime called "Samhain: Feast of the Dying Sun". It was immensely helpful for getting the creative juices flowing.

In that documentary they described a folk ritual in which nine young women prepared a "pancake" made from nine ingredients harvested from the earth. When the young women ate the cake they would supposedly have erotic dreams about their future husband. I couldn't find any other information on this "spell" or the ingredients used. Still it sparked the idea for a sexy, sexy sexscapade.

As always, Sofia is grown, proper adult age and all.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter One

* * *

The Imperfect Enjoyment

 _Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,_

 _I filled with love, and she all over charms;_

 _Both equally inspired with eager fire,_

 _Melting through kindness, flaming in desire._

\- John Wilmot, Earle of Rochester

* * *

Sofia believed in witchcraft. How could she not when one of her best friends was a witch and she resided with a live-in sorcerer? Still, she had her doubts about this particular bit of magic.

"Are you sure you know what that books says?" Amber asked, a subtle sneer on her lips.

Lucinda glared at the haughty girl. "I told you, just because my mother's grimoire is in codex doesn't mean I can't read it. She taught me my family's code."

"Well," she blond princess turned up her nose in distaste. "I am not eating that. I don't care if it assures I'll marry the maharaja of Timbuktu."

Sofia frowned, tempted to agree. The "cake" didn't look particularly appetizing.

"Look," Lucinda huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "We followed the recipe exactly. This should work. All we do now is cut it into nine equal slices, each eat out piece, and tonight you'll dream about your future husband."

Saturine and Pricilla, the two youngest witches giggle annoyingly. They'd been giggling all afternoon since they'd gathered in Lucinda's kitchen to work their _erotic_ spell. It hadn't been nearly so annoying three hours ago when they were all tittering over the spell's supposed power, flushing and teasing one another as they chopped vegetables and mixed ingredients. Samhain was a time of mischief and mystery, the idea of working spells, calling forth erotic visions of the future, seemed the perfect way to spend a chilly October afternoon.

"Well, I'm not eating it," Amber declared.

Sofia met the eye of her witch friend, seeing Lucinda was on the verge of a wicked witch relapse, her hand twitching towards her wand, about to hex the blond princess. "Sorry," Sofia mouthed silently, pleading with her eyes for the witch's patience.

Lucinda sighed, hand relaxing around her hawthorn wand. Sofia knew the only reason Amber had even been invited was because they needed a ninth girl. Jade and Ruby thought of Amber as good company, but Lucinda could barely stand the young woman's high airs. Four other witches rounded out the group, all squeezed into the cottage kitchen, hurrying to complete the spell before Lucinda's mom returned and found that her daughter had "borrowed" her grimoire.

Ruby cut the cake into pieces, passing out each on a plate. She set one in front of Amber, who crinkled her nose further. Sofia took a cautious bite, not wanting all of Lucinda's hard work to go to waste. Chewing thoughtfully, she decided it wasn't half bad. An odd combination, made with a collection of harvest vegetables and fruit, she found the flavor intriguing. A staunch vegetarian (talking to animals will put you off eating them) she could appreciate and tolerate earthy flavors better than most.

The same could not be said for the other girls. Ruby took one bite, made a face and pushed her plate away. Jade made it three bite in, determined to know if Gregory the baker's son was sincere in his declaration of marriage, before she too gave up. Lucinda and the other witches, more accustomed to bitter potions and sour tinctures, almost made it, by in the end they all stopped short of finishing their slices. Only Sofia cleaned her plate, blinking innocently when the other balked at her.

"What? I thought it was good."

Amber dropped her piece in the trash, untouched. "I don't think you know the meaning of the word, if you think that was good. It smells like feet."

"Magic isn't supposed to be pleasant or easy," Lucinda chided, parroting her mother's words. Then her green eyes narrowed. "But, maybe that's not the problem,. Maybe you're just a prude and too afraid of a little wet dream."

Amber stomped her foot, her cheeks going flushed. "I am not a prude."

"Really," the witch's smile was sly. "Then prove it, Princess. Have any prince charmings been up your skirt?"

Sofia groaned silently, realizing the trap Amber had walked right into. If she refused to say, then she was a prude. If she said she'd never done anything like that with a boy, she was still a prude. The brunette realized then she should have given her sister greater warning about witches. They tended to have a different moral compass when it came to sex. Not that Sofia considered them lewd or debauched, they just tended to be a bit les constrained than the aristocratic gentry. Lucinda and her friends were raised to embrace their sexuality, not hide it in embarrassment, or lie coyly about their conquests.

But Sofia needn't have worried. Amber was a master of deception as well as distraction. She'd learned her skills in the royal court, the best school in the world for such things. She regained her composure quickly. "You know very well, Lucinda, a princess doesn't kiss and tell. But, if I were so inclined, I could say with confidence that a certain Tangu heir has very, shall we say, talented fingers. And I don't need your smelly old cake to tell me I'll be queen someday."

Amber's saucy rebuttal, complete with arched brow, sent Saturine and Pricilla off on another peel of giggles. Lucinda regarded Amber with a look of begrudging respect.

"What I'd be more interested in," Amber drawled, "Is who the young man I saw Ruby holding hands with behind the town warehouse."

All eyes turned to the sputtering Ruby and Sofia had to mental applaud Amber's tactics. She'd proven deftly that she was not the frigid ice princess others thought her to be, reminded everyone that she was the highest standing person in the room, and managed to turn the attention from further personal inquiries in a few masterful strokes. Sofia knew that Amber fancied their long-time friend Zandar, but she hadn't suspected that things had turned physical between them. In a way she envied Amber's resolve to capture a crown by any means necessary. Sofia hoped her sister would settle on a prince she genuinely cared from, but she knew nothing less than a prince would do for Amber's specific tastes. A prince and heir to his thrown to be very specific.

As Ruby fended off question about her mystery beau, Sofia felt a guilty relief, having the focus turn to anyone but her. All afternoon she teetered on edge, awaiting for the inevitable question why she even wished to participate in such a superstitious Samhain ritual. It wasn't that she was so eager to know the identity of her future husband, but more that she desired a clue that someday she would in fact find a man she wished to marry. So far, beyond the casual crush, she wasn't interested in any of her prospects. Instead she clung to her childhood friend, the one man she felt safe and comfortable with, but she suspected that would soon need to come to an end. At nineteen years of age now, she feared the time to cut ties was actually past due.

But the question had never come to her, and so she needn't fabricate an answer. Even Lucinda didn't seem that set on the results of her spell, having more fun participating in a silly tradition, surrounded by friends. And it was an enjoyable way to spend the last day before the festivities of the coming holiday. Tomorrow was October 31, the official start of Samhain. The festival would last for three days, the veil between realms growing progressively thinner as they moved towards midwinter, allowing passage between the worlds. Divination was common during this time, and their harvest cake seemed to be as reliable as apple peals dropped on the floor or egg whites dripped into water.

As they cleaned the kitchen, erasing all traces of their mischief, the good-natured teasing continued. They giggled over phantom lovers, swapped gossip, from both the village and the castle, and eventually set out to buy a snack of sweet apple tarts to erase the taste of their failed Samhain cake. By the time Amber and Sofia waved goodbye, heading back to the castle, the tiff between Amber and Lucinda was forgotten, as was the reason they'd spent the day with the witch at all. All that remained as Sofia brushed her hair and climbed into bed that night was the memory of the fun they'd shared. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, never wondering what her dreams might hold.

* * *

When she woke, it was still the middle of the night. The waxing moon swelled, almost full, spilling its silvery grey light across the counterpane. Sofia snuggled deeper into her pillows, away from the fall chill. That she was dreaming didn't occur to her, until a pair of warm arms encircled her from behind, and she felt no alarm that there was a stranger in her bed. Beneath the downy covers, her skin lay bare, her nightgown gone. Behind her she felt the warm panes of a man's chest, a face nuzzling against her hair. They lay on their sides, fitted together like a pair of spoons.

His hands began to stir, stroking his fingers lightly up her arm, across her shoulder and down the slope of her chest. Warm lips caressed her shoulder and the back of her neck. His hand trailed lightly over the tip of her breast, stopping to tease the rosy peak to an aching point. She felt shivery and warm, content to let this stranger explore her nude body. Except he didn't particularly feel like a stranger, though she had no way of knowing who he was at all. She felt an intense notion of familiarity and comfort that he was here in bed with her.

His inquiring, patient touch skipped over her belly, sliding down her leg, rounding the back of her knee before coming back up to the apex of her thighs. There his fingers ghosted over her curls and she opened for him. He caressed her then, delving two fingers into her cleft, bringing forth and spreading the dew pooled there. Those same fingers dipped inside her channel, their passage eased by the eagerness of her body. His other arm wrapped beneath her neck, elbow crooked to clasp her opposite shoulder. She felt strangely secure in his embrace, not constrained or caged, but protected. She grasped his forearm as an anchor while her hips rocked to meet his thrusting fingers. Against her backside, she felt his manhood quicken, growing long and firm. When her crooked his fingers up, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, she moaned.

At that, he growled against her ear, fingers abandoning her dripping sex to grip her thigh. Lifting her top leg back over his hip, she felt the tip of his manhood glide between her lips. Spread open for him, he gripped his own sex, positioning the head at her entrance and thrust. Sofia cried out at the shock of it, but there was no pain, no fear, only pleasure. That and a sense of completion.

Fiery pleasure coursed through her, overcome by the sensation of being filled so intimately. When his hips withdrew all but the crown of his cock, she whimpered at the loss. He rocked forward, filling her again and again and again, and she answered him, flexing back to meet his thrusts. His hot breath against her neck raised gooseflesh all along her shoulders. His arms held her securely as there connection surged and ebbed, as timeless as the tide. She moved mindlessly now, seeking relief for the tension coiled low in her belly. As if sensing her need, his fingertips drifted down, finding the bud hidden in her fold and stroking just so to make her come completely undone.

Sofia spiraled in ecstasy, every muscle in a riot as he continued to pump in and out of her convulsing core. Groaning against her hair, he rolled her onto her stomach, hovering over her back with a hand planted on either side of her head. His hips ground against her backside, going deeper. Her soaked and quivering channel offered no resistance. Boneless from the onslaught of sensation, she lacked the strength to lift her chest and face off the mattress. Instead she settled for arching her spine, flexing her hips up to the ceiling, letting him take her as it pleased him. His hungry thrusts stole the air from her lungs, but sounds of mindless pleasure wouldn't stop pouring from her mouth. Insensible sounds that pleaded he continue despite her overwrought state. Somehow she never wanted it to end. The sound of his hips surging forward to smack soundly against her backside only heightened her frenzied state of arousal.

Just when she believed to be at her end, unable to absorb any more, he leaned down over her. The intimate press of their bodies, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to back, cradled her with warmth. He kissed her back and shoulders lovingly even as his manhood pounded at the entrance of her womb. Warm fingers raked the hair from her ear and she felt his tongue caress the sensitive whorls there before his breath blew out in a throaty whisper.

"Teacht chun dom, a ghrá."

Sofia didn't understand his words, but the husky command called to something inside her. She sobbed with wanton pleasure, crying out as she crested the waves of ecstasy again and again. He tangled the fingers of his right hand between hers, gripping their joined hands tightly as he emptied himself into her, filling her with his seed. She collapsed in a heap, gasping for air with her hair splayed messily over her face. He gave one last, feeble thrust as he pulsed inside her and her body answered with a flutter of its own. He continued to caress her lovingly, kissing her shoulder, stroking her spine as he slipped from her, moving to lie along her side. She murmured contented sounds, too spent to rake the hair from her face or even turn her head. There she fell into an exhausted oblivion, only to wake alone in her own bed.

Sofia came to consciousness with a gasp. Her womb convulsed and she discovered she was rather embarrassingly grinding her pubis against the palm of her hand. When the waves of pleasure eased, she blinked her sleepy eyes open in wide astonishment.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so I know some of you are going: That was supposed to be Cedric, right? Why the hell is he talking in some whacked out language? Well, Lucinda said her mother's grimoire was written in code. In my little world, serious magic handling families keep their spells secret by recording them in a code specific to their family. One that is passed down generation to generation. It's highly secretive and wouldn't be shared with just anyone. So, yeah, he speaking to her in his lineage's secret language. Rather than make up a language, I used Irish on Google translate. Seemed appropriate since Samhain is Celtic. So, what did he say? Something kind of sweet and kind of dirty. ;)

Teacht chun dom, mo ghrá: Come for me, my love.

So, I hope to have a chapter every day or at least every other day. This fic will go fairly quick as it's all just for some holiday fun and I'm trying not to get bogged down worrying about character development and whatnot. There should be about 4 to 5 short chapters in all. And look for an Intoxication update before the end of the week.

As always, reviews, please! I cannot express how much I love them!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: First off - I love you all! You make it so worth it to post my crazy brain ramblings. This chapter was getting way long so I split it into two. So, sorry, no sexy bits in this one, just some fluffy Cedric/ Sofia real world interaction.

For clarity and ease of reading from now on I will put the translation of Cedric's secret language in parentheses in italics. For example: "A ghrá." ( _My love._ ) I want to stress that While I used Irish as a base for Cedric's family's language rather than make one up, I have no doubt that a native Irish speaking person would say I have everything all wrong. The Irish language is pretty complicated and I haven't a clue how to speak it, so basically just pretend it isn't Irish. :P Oh, and Lucinda is speaking in Welsh.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Two

* * *

 _The can be no peace of mind in love,_

 _since what one has obtained in never anything_

 _But a starting point for further desires._

-Marcel Proust

* * *

"And you have no idea who this man is?"

"No," Sofia grumbled from her place, head down on Lucinda's kitchen table.

The witch set a steaming cup of coffee next to the princess before settling in to the seat across from her."Damn, Sof, how do you have hot dream sex with the guy and not get at least some clue about who he is."

Sofia sat up, reaching for her cup and the sugar bowl. She stirred a spoonful into her coffee. "It was dark," she defended, before dropping into an embarrassed mumble, "And he was behind me the whole time."

Lucinda's brows rose with interest. "Really? Nice."

The princess blushed, taking a hasty sip of coffee and burning her tongue for her troubles. That morning she'd dresses as early as was seemly, forgoing breakfast in the family dining room to rush out to Lucinda's for her advice. The witch had grumpily informed Sofia that her own dreams had been devoid of any nighttime lovers. That puzzled them both. They had both partaken of the Samhain cake, taking equal part in the preparation of the magic.

"There was one thing," Sofia added carefully. "He spoke to me."

"Okay, what did he say?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "It wasn't English. I'm not sure what language it was. I'm fluent in Spanish, French and Kaldune, and it didn't sound like any of those. It didn't sound like any language I've heard before."

Lucinda smiled widely. "A foreigner, eh? I do love a man with an accent."

Sofia tossed a balled up napkin at the witch. It sailed harmlessly over her head as she ducked. "You're not helping."

"I don't get it," Lucinda laughed at the princess's failed missile. "Why are you so glum about this? The spell worked. You got to see your future husband. Okay, well, not _see_ , but you know what I mean. And it sound like you have nothing but good things to look forward to."

Sofia flushed, remembering the intimate scene from her dream. "I know. I just ... Just because he's my future husband doesn't mean I'll love him, or even like him. What if I'm married to some snotty prince or nasty Duke. You don't know the aristocracy, I've heard tell of some sadistic individuals."

Lucinda frowned in distaste, remembering some of the dark tales she'd heard. "You know your parents won't make you marry anyone you don't want to. They've already made that clear."

"I know," Sofia conceded. "I just can't help feel a little nervous. He was so ... intense."

"Intense isn't always a bad thing, is it?"

Sofia chewed her lip, thinking. Why was she so nervous, feeling a shiver of trepidation over her mystery lover. He had been intense, but he'd also been tender, coaxing her to heights of pleasure. And she'd enjoyed everything he'd done, encouraging his every move with her body and her sounds. She was just so unaccustomed to the notion of romantic love. Anything she'd felt in the past didn't compare, not by a long shot.

"Well," Lucinda sighed, "Not much use worrying about it for now. The spell's done, so until you meet this guy in the flesh, you've nothing to fear."

Sofia frowned, not comforted by her friend's words. She was never one to put off tomorrow what she could tackle today, and worry was no exception. Now that she'd gotten a glimpse of her marital bed, she couldn't simply forget the whole thing, putting it aside to deal with later. As she thoughtfully sipped her coffee, the town church bells began to chime. Sofia counted off nine rings, her eyes going wide. "Oh, no. I'm going to be late."

"What?" Lucinda whined, watching the princess hurry. She wanted to talk more about this mystery man. "You're not leaving now are you? If I can't have any erotic visions of my own, the least you can do is let me live vicariously through yours."

Sofia smirked. "Sorry, Luce, but I have to go. I promised Mister Cedric I'd meet him."

"Oh," Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't want to keep _Mister Cedric_ waiting. What are you going to do with your sorcerer when this new husband enters the picture? You two do everything together."

"Not everything," Sofia pouted, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. What would she do when it came time to put her friendship with Cedric aside to make room for a new man in her life? Surely this new husband wouldn't expect to replace Cedric. Sofia had many friends of all walks of life, but Cedric was by far her best and closest. "Well, Mister Nighttime Lover will just have to deal with it."

"Yeah, right," Lucinda snorted, "Better hope your new lover is into threesomes."

Sofia colored brightly. "What are you talking about? Cedric and I aren't like that."

"Yes, I know," the witch sighed. "Though I've no idea why. I would have been all over that long ago."

Lucinda's green eyes suddenly brightened, prompting a nervous response in Sofia. That look on Lucinda's face always meant trouble.

"Ooooo," the witch's nose crinkled. "What if they're one and the same?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Lucinda smiled slowly, like a cat licking cream from its whiskers with relish. "What is your nighttime lover _**IS**_ your sorcerer?"

Sofia's mouth gaped open and close like a fish struck dumb, gasping for air on land. Her mind felt like it had hit something of a snag, trying to overlay the image of last night's dream over her longtime friend. She shook her head firmly. "No, that's impossible."

"Is it?" her friend challenged, "Because I'm thinking it's anything but."

"I know Cedric, Lucinda. I've never know him to be anything like ... like _that_."

"How would you know? You said yourself," Lucinda dropped her voice into a silky pout, "It's not like that between you."

"Alright, Smartypants, I can understand Cedric when he talks. Explain that."

"Ni allwch ddeall mi yn awr, gallwch chi?" ( _You can't understand me right now, can you?_ )

Sofia's jaw dropped open. "What language is that?"

"My own," Lucinda smiled, sickly sweet. "Or my family's, rather. It's our codex passed down through the generations. Every magic handling family has one."

"I've never heard Cedric talk in any special language," she frowned, trying not to let the witch's suggestion get to her.

"That's because we keep them secret. You wouldn't want just any witch, wizard, or sorcerer to break the code, so we speak it as little as possible and only to those closest to us. It's also what we write out grimories in so no one else can read them."

Sofia chewed her lip, remembering, Maria's, Lucinda's mother's spell book. Cedric had several book in his workshop that she couldn't read, she just always expected they were written in conventional languages. "No," she insisted. "I would know Cedric anywhere."

"But would you know him _like that_? Naked and pressed up against you?"

The princess scowled, telling herself how despite Lucinda's good qualities, the girl did relish sowing seeds of discontent a little too much at times. Some wicked witch habits die hard. "I don't have time to argue about this, I have to go. Good bye, Lucinda."

The witch wiggled her fingers in farewell, completely unperturbed by the princess's bothered tone. "Have fun, Dear."

Sofia was almost out the door when Lucinda called to her again. "Oh, and Sof, just something to keep in mind."

The princess huffed, turning at the open door, knowing she probably was going to regret asking, "What?"

Lucinda's pert nose crinkled. "I've always heard sorcerers are wicked in bed."

Sofia shut the door behind her, cutting off the witches peeling giggle. Annoyance flashed through her, embarrassed to discover that she was now flushing from forehead to neck.

* * *

Cedric stood in the town square tapping his foot in annoyance. A russet blur with auburn hair wove its way through the crowded village lane, murmuring hasty apologies as she hastened towards him.

Sofia arrived out of breath, hand pressed to the stomach of her heavy harvest gown. "Sorry," she gasped.

"You're late."

"I said I was sorry." She rolled her eyes at his dispassionate tome. "And a Happy Samhain to you too."

"Hmf," he grumbled noncommittally before yawing widely.

"Are you alright, Mister Cedric? You look tired."

"Didn't sleep well," he muttered.

She smiled wryly to herself. "I can sympathize."

He gave her an odd look, but she let it pass, not wanting to answer any question on the subject. Instead she looked him up and down. Despite the holiday he was dressed the same as always. "No," she said firmly. "This will not do. It's a celebration. You need to at least wear something festive."

"I don't do festive," he sneered.

Sofia looked around, spotting what she was searching for. Hustling over to a cart, she selected a bright orange sash, paying the vendor for it. When she came back over, Cedric was still standing rooted to the same spot. "Here." She unknotted his tie without asking permission. Unwinding the yellow satin from its layers, he scowled at her, but didn't interfere. She wound the new orange ribbon around his throat, tying a bow in the front.

"Happy now?" He held out his hand. "Now give me back my tie."

She held it out of his reach. "No, you're just going to change it back."

"Exactly, now give it back."

She gave him a stubborn look, before sassily looping the yellow fabric around the small of her waist. It was just long enough for her to tie in a small bow. The mustard yellow lent a festive splash of color against her russet gown. "There," she smiled, "Now we both look better."

He rolled his eyes, dropping his hand in defeat. Still he grumbled, "You could have just changed the color with your wand, you know? You didn't need to buy me a new one."

"No, I couldn't," she adjusted her new adornment carefully. "I don't have my wand."

Her eyes widened comically before they shut tightly. "Oh no! I forgot my wand."

Cedric crossed his arms, looking peeved. "Did you forget you promised to perform the magic show for the village heathens."

"They're traditionally called children, Cedric." She laughed despite herself. "I didn't forget, I just left the castle in such a hurry this morning. I'll run straight home and be back as soon as I can."

"Don't bother," he grumbled, pulling a purple wand from his pocket. "I knew you'd forget. You always do."

Instead of being offended, she grasped her wand, throwing her arms around him in an ecstatic hug. "Thank you, Cedric."

He stepped out of her embrace, tugging the lapels of his robes back into place. "Yes, well, pure self interest, I assure you. You know I detest entertaining children."

Normally that was where she'd interject, calling him out as a shameless liar. He didn't detest children, though he often professed it was so, he just didn't like performing magic shows. But she didn't say anything, preoccupied with Lucinda's last taunting words to her. When she'd hugged him, though she'd done the same gesture a thousand times before, this time she was very suddenly _aware_ of him. Aware of the firmness of his body beneath his robes. Aware that underneath the layers of finery lay his bare skin. She wondered suddenly how warm his skin would feel. Would she really know Cedric is he were naked and pressed up against her in the dark?

"Are you feeling all right?"

She snapped back into the present, seeing him eye her suspiciously. "Yes," she stuttered. "I'm fine. I just ... I didn't sleep well either."

He frowned, worry etching the corners of his eyes. What he said was, "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you complain of a little lack of rest."

She smirked up at him. His seemingly callous regard for her well-being didn't bother her in the slightest. She knew what he said and what he meant were often at odds. If she really felt ill, he'd never make her perform if she didn't wish to. She reached up to give his new orange bow a flick. "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Author's Note: Back to the sexy bits in the next chapter!

I threw in that bit about Cedric calling the village children heathens as a sort of inside joke. That's what my husband and I (jokingly and only to each other) call our children when they're being particularly ferocious and demanding.

Reviews, please! I love them more than steal Reese's from my kids' Halloween stash. :P


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I love. love, love your reviews. You guys help validate that I am getting across what I'm trying to get across, which just feels so awesome as a writer.

Here's a fun fact: I named this fic Lover Mine after a line from a poem spoken in the Halloween: Feast of the Dying Sun documentary I watched that inspired this story. The line as it was said in that film was "O lover mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling". Turns out they totally misquoted the original poem. It's supposed to be "O mother mine". So whoops.

And just so you know: a ghrá ( _my love_ ) sounds like ah graw (rhymes with "raw"). The two sounds are said quickly, no pause in-between, as one word, like: ahgraw.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter 3

* * *

Village Song

HONEY, child, honey, child, whither are you going?  
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing?  
Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you?  
Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?

Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going,  
Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing;  
To the köil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten,  
The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!

Honey, child, honey, child, the world is full of pleasure,  
Of bridal-songs and cradle-songs and sandal-scented leisure.  
Your bridal robes are in the loom, silver and saffron glowing,  
Your bridal cakes are on the hearth: O whither are you going?

The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow,  
The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow.  
Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest-streams are falling;  
O mother mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling.

-Sarojini Naidu

* * *

The magic show went off without a hitch. The children thrilled, having their very own princess entertain them. Sofia's magic skills had grown exponentially over the years with a combination of nature talent and patient nurturing by her mentor. She did get Cedric back, unable to resist playing a little trick on him. Exciting the children with the claim of a fantastical feat so amazing only Mister Cedric was capable of producing, she encouraged the young ones to coax him onto the stage. They cheered and cajoled, demanding he perform this "rare" spell. In reality, it was a relatively small bit of magic, but try as he might to deny them any protestations were met with pouts, whimpers and further pleas until he finally relented. Sofia stepped aside, ignoring the glower he threw in her direction as he passed.

He didn't stay cross with her long. The children cheered wildly at the unpoppable bubbles that soared from the tip of his wand. They chased them in delight, bouncing them high in the air, admiring the iridescent sheen in the sun. Sofia grinned from the sidelines, knowing him a shameless sucker for praise. She watched Cedric gaze about, a delighted smile on his face, until he caught sight of her watching and put on a effected frown. When the children crowded around his legs, begging for more, he shooed them off to their waiting parents, staunchly denying their whining, pouting pleas.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

"You must feel so pleased with yourself," he drawled as they walked away from the small stage erected off the main thoroughfare. "Just for that you can expect to be cleaning cauldrons for a month. No magic allowed."

Sofia giggled, because for one she never minded a little hard work, and two they both knew he'd never hold her to the punishment. "It was worth it. And don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself. I saw that smile."

He sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know to what you are referring."

"Yeah, okay," she rolled her eyes. Around them the street were filling with villagers. Several stalls had been erected for the faire and the delicious aroma of every kind of food filed the air. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat that day but coffee. "Tell you what, you forget the cauldrons and I'll get us some of those cream buns you love so much."

He peeked down at her from the corner of his eye, deciding whether to continue on with this charade of affronted feelings. Sofia folded her hands before her as if in prayer, batting her eyes, then she stuck out her lip for good measure.

He threw his hands up. "Alright fine, just take that pathetic look off your face, please. You know I detest it when you beg."

* * *

Later, when they sat under the town pavilion eating their breakfast together, Sofia glanced over to find Cedric staring at her.

"What?" She mumbled through a mouth full of pastry.

"Do you always wear your hair like that?"

Self consciously, she patted the chignon at the back of her head. "Usually, why?"

"Nothing," he muttered, becoming flustered. "It just looked different today is all."

Sofia favored him with a confused look. Her hair was the same as most other days. That Cedric even noticed was odd. He didn't seem aware she even _had_ hair, let alone what style it was in. She went back to eating, chewing thoughtfully and shooting him another glance.

Cedric for his part was wondering _what-the-hell-was-wrong-with-him_. Her hair wasn't what he'd been preoccupied with, just the closest thing of proximity he could think to stutter out an excuse about. No, he'd been staring at her neck, wondering if it had always had that graceful curve that just begged to be kissed. He blinked hard, focusing on halting these highly bizarre and inappropriate thoughts. He didn't think of Sofia that way. Rather he didn't _allow_ himself to think of her that way. Doing so was an exercise in futility. They were friends and nothing more, and he didn't - _couldn't_ \- think of her as anything more. So why did he suddenly find his eyes straying over the downy fleece of her hairline, tracing the subtle arch of her neck and the soft bend of her shoulder?

He pulled his eyes from her, wondering about the strangeness of the day in general. It had begun for him in a way most unusual. He'd woken that morning with a start, as if from some shocking dream, except he couldn't remember what about. He could guess, though, as he woke to a sticky mess the likes of which he hadn't dealt with since the embarrassing days of puberty. Easy enough to deal with as a simple cleaning spell is one of the first spells any adolescent boys perfects out of necessity. But, still, what had possessed him to such physical ardor during the night? Being Samhain, some would say he'd been visited by a succubus intent on stealing his seed. Or perhaps a fairy queen, whose lascivious wiles induced her to seduce all sort of men into her bed. He believed in magic, obviously, but not in such superstitious tales.

No, more likely his mind had conjured up some fantasy, perhaps out of desperation. To say it had been a while since he'd last had sex was an understatement. There was a time, no so very long ago, at the height of his fame as Cedric the Sensation that he found himself rather unexpectedly an object of desire for some women. Something about power and accolades tended to attract a certain type of person. And to say that his sudden popularity with the opposite sex had turned his head was also a bit of an understatement. He's indulged in the attention, discovering too late what an empty life celebrity can be, even if he only ranked as a minor one.

So, yes, it had been a while. Losing himself in the empty pleasure of a stranger's arms had lost its appeal for him for some time now. But his self-imposed celibacy seemed to be taking a sudden, unexpected toll. Perhaps he should seek out some means of physical release; a feat easily enough done, especially on Samhain where alcohol flowed freely and inhibitions dropped to their lowest. But he didn't want that. Which made him wonder, what was it that he did want? What was he seeking? His eyes strayed to the woman at his side, watching as she licked an errant drop of cream from her lips.

 _Ifreann diabhal (fucking hell), what was wrong with him today?_ _Sofia was a friend. A friend, and nothing more._

 _Yes_ , he thought back at himself, _because it's totally normal to envision licking cream filling off your friend's lips. Nothing weird about that at all._

He scowled at himself, feeling all out of sorts today. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease some tension that had settled there. Fatigue, he decided, fatigue was to blame.

Sofia carefully brushed a fleck of powdered sugar from her dress. "Ready to go?"

"Go?" He squinted in confusion. "Go where?"

"To see the rest of the festival of course. You didn't think I was just going to let you go back to the castle to molder in your tower."

"I don't molder," he sulked, "I have important work to do."

"You do not, and we both know it. At least nothing so pressing that you can't take a holiday off."

For the first time, Cedric hesitated to accept her offer. Over the years they had grown close, Sofia becoming his near constant companion. She inhabited every facet of his life, insinuating herself into every dark corner, casting out old shadows. For that he held her in the highest regard, valuing her thoughts and opinions, preferring her company above all others, but for the first time he felt an unease in her presence, as if he didn't quite trust himself today.

When he hesitated, Sofia stepped forward, grasping his hand, tugging him to his feet. Her finger slid into the gaps between his, interlacing their fingers in a way they'd never touched before. Sofia seemed surprised by her bold gesture, but Cedric was barely aware of what she did. The moment her delicate fingers slipped between his, he had a full sensory flashback of the dream he couldn't remember:

 _Silver moonlight spilled across the pale, naked expanse of a woman's back. Her hair appeared inky in the low light. He raked the strands from her ear, leaning down to trace the delicate shell with his tongue. She gasped, his deeply set hip flexing against her squirming backside. He blew gently against the wet trails he'd made, whispering, "Come for me, my love."_

 _Except he hadn't spoken in plain English, but rather shockingly in the coded language of his family line. The woman cried out, her sex squeezing him tight enough that his eyes rolled back. The climax that rippled through him left him weak with its intensity. He gripped her hand, interlacing their fingers, squeezing tightly as he came._

"Cedric!"

Sofia was looking up at him with a worried expression. "Are you alright? You kind of ... went away there for a second."

He jerked away from her hold, staring at his own hand as if it were a snake about to bite him. _Ifreann diabhal, what was that?_ No wonder he'd woken covered in his own fluids, jerked awake by a dream like that. But why was he remembering it now? And with such lucid clarity? He flushed, realizing his body had reacted somewhat favorably to the memory. He silently thanked the goddess for the heavy folds of his robe.

"Cedric?" Sofia inquired again, her hand still held aloft as if she weren't sure if she should attempt to comfort him or not.

He blinked, realizing he must look like a crazy person. "Yes, sorry. I, uh, got a bit dizzy there for a moment."

"Do you need to sit down? I'll get you some water."

Her concern touched him, but he was in no mood to expand on his convenient lie, pretending to be ill when all he really felt was ill at ease. The vision had shaken him with its intensity, making his thoughts fuzzy. "No, please, don't trouble yourself. But it might be best if I go back to the castle."

"Oh," she frowned, sounding put out, "Of course, if you're not feeling well. I had hoped we could spend the day together."

Something in her tone, like child deprived of a gift on Wasallia, swamped him with guilt. His head was beginning to clear, the dream already receding back into the hazy corners of his memory. "Perhaps, it's not that bad," he mumbled, feeling the need to cheer her. He could certainly endure her company a little longer. One misplaced dream wasn't reason enough to ruin her day.

Sofia felt a guilty relief. If Cedric really didn't feel well she shouldn't force him, but with the specter of her phantom husband hanging over her head she felt more drawn to Cedric than ever. Clinging to him like a security blanket against the unknown.

"Please," she asked, though this time she didn't bat her eyes or push out her lip like a child. Cedric didn't really hate it when she begged, she knew, he just couldn't say no when she did.

Cedric gave her the strangest look then, as if his thoughts were at war with his expression. He swallowed thickly, then nodded. She wrapped her hand around the crook of his arm, under the guise of supporting him. Covertly she gave his arm a quick squeeze of gratitude. She could always rely on Cedric to be there when she needed him.

* * *

They wandered the village, Sofia cooing over the adorable costumes of the children. Cedric didn't even bother to comment, distracted with his own thoughts most of the day. Sofia attempted to engage him in conversation several times, but was met with short answers that left little to discuss. Still, she kept him by her side all day, calmed by his familiar presence.

Since he refused to speak more than a few syllables, she filled the time with nervous chatter. But by mid-day she too had sank into a glum melancholy.

"Do you want me to let you go back to the castle?" She asked, unable to keep a forlorn note from her voice.

Cedric seemed to shake himself out of the preoccupied state he'd been in all morning. "What?" He asked.

"You don't seem to be having any fun. I just thought maybe you'd like to head back."

"Oh." He looked down, shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs, and when he looked back at her his eyes regained their focus. "No, I'm fine. I'll stay, if you want me to."

 _If you want me to ..._ The phrase seemed to both entice and repel her. "If you don't wish to ...," she answered carefully, wondering why his response bothered her. She did want him to stay, but more than that, she _wanted him to want_ to stay.

"No," he reached out to touch her arm, prompting her to look up at him. His head cocked to the side, smiling a little. "I'm sorry, you're right. I've been lost in my own thoughts all say. I'll stay. I want to."

She smiled back, feeling more relived that she thought she should. "Thank you."

His thumb rubbed her arm through her sleeve, his eyes suddenly focusing on her with a subtle intensity. "Are you okay today?"

Sofia forced brightness into her smile. "Of course."

After that the day went smoother than before. As evening set in Sofia's stomach rumbled, making Cedric chuckle. Conjuring a basket to carry their purchases, Sofia selected a variety of festival food, taking their minor feast to a grassy spot under an old oak tree. She conjured a blanket, sitting down upon it, arranging her skirts around her. As the sunset, the village changed. Children were ushered off to bed, their bellies full of treats. Adults gathered in the closing darkness, cups of wine and mead clutched in every hand. Sofia watched from their grassy perch as the Samhain bonfire was lit, going up in a blaze of orange fire. Torches were taken from the massive pyre to light other smaller fires all over the surrounding hills.

The sight never failed to make her pulse quicken, the symbol of the light fighting against the closing darkness. Samhain marked the beginning of the new year. The dying sun would shine a little less every day until the midwinter celebration of Yule, or Wasallia as they called it in Enchancia. She usually thrilled at the dark magic, but tonight she felt a shiver of fear. Then she reminded herself that she had nothing to worry about. The spell was done. Tonight her dreams would be her own once again.

She glanced over to find Cedric stretched out upon their blanket, hands behind his head, elbows splayed wide. His eyes were closed and she wondered if he could possibly be asleep with a revelry such as Samhain cavorting around them. She laid down, curled on her side to look at him, but not touching.

"Cedric?"

"Hm?" He grunted.

She giggled. "You can't possibly be asleep."

His turned his head, opening his hazel eyes on her. Normally flecked with hints of green, they looked gold in the fire light. "No, I'm not asleep."

"Do you want to head back to the castle?" She smothered a delicate yawn behind her hand. Though chilled and hard, she probably could fall asleep out here on the ground. It had been a long day of festival and feasting, and she was very tired.

Cedric didn't answer, instead he stood up, groaning a little from lying on the unforgiving ground. She reached up to take his offered hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She rubbed her eyes like a tired child as he cleared away their impromptu picnic with a flick of his wand.

"Come on, Princess," he chuckled. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

Sofia became slowly aware of the fact that she was lost in the woods. Turning her head this way and that, in the distance she spotted the lights of the Samhain bonfires. But when she walked, then ran towards them, they remained just as distant, their light a flicker between the trees, never reaching the shadowy glen where she was trapped. Her heart began to pound as her legs pumped faster, running barefooted through the wet mulch. She shivered in the cold, realizing she was clothed in only a thin night dress. The darkness seemed to close around her. The metallic tang of her heartbeat rose in the back of her throat as panic set in. The sensation of eyes watching unseen from the dark crawled along the back of her neck, making her glance frantically over her shoulder. Nothing followed that she could see but the impression of being watched remained.

She turned her head just in time to see a dark figure right before she collided with it. Screaming with frantic fear, she pushed and clawed at the figure as it clamped rough hands around her arms, dragging her forward against its chest. She continued to struggle, trying to wrench herself out of its grip, but she couldn't get free. She recognized a heartbeat beneath her ear as it - _as he_ \- wrapped his arms around her, cupping the back of her head, holding her still.

"Bí socair, a ghrá, tá sé ach dom." ( _Be calm, my love, it's only me._ )

She recognized his voice, the rolling cadence of his strange language from her previous dream. The man, her husband, her lover. She didn't know if she could trust him, if it was wise to feel safe in his presence, but she did. She clasped her arms around him, clutching at the back of his shirt. Burying her face against the fabric, she nearly sobbing with relief.

He petted her hair, stroking his other hand down her back, murmuring soft words that soothed her.  
"Tá tú sábháilte. Tá mé anseo." ( _You are safe. I am here._ )

Her blood pressure began to rearranged itself, less panicked but still pounding as she nuzzled against the warmth of his throat at his open collar. Her arms crept up around his neck, lifting her face to draw him down to her mouth. He kissed her eagerly, tongue slipping between her parted lips. She replied in kind, swirling her tongue around his in a graceful, hungry gesture. She wanted him, she realized. Here. Now.

He seemed to sense her urgency, turning her round to press her back against a tree. He kissed along her jaw, plundering his tongue into her ear. His hands stroked her breasts through her thin gown. She felt her nipple respond to his caresses, hardening to peaks beneath his fingers. He rolled one pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger, sending a surge of heat straight to her core. She tugged at his shoulders, impatient for him.

They sank to the ground together. He drew her into his lap, positioning her trembling thighs to straddle his waist. Sofia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, realizing their clothing was gone. The length of his erection pressed against her folds, warming her already hot flesh. She tested this new feeling, rolling her hips to rub along the underside of his shaft. He groaned against her hair. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her up, moving into position beneath her, before lowering her down soundly onto his cock. She gasped, finding the sensation of being joined with him just as shocking as she had the night before. They fit together, deliciously tight, like she'd been made to hold him.

He panted against her neck, arm still wrapped around her waist while his other hand gripped her hip. He moved her in tandem to his thrusts, pulling her up when his hips rocked away, bearing her down as he rolled forward. She clutched tightly to his shoulders, resting her chin against his forehead, lost in pure sensation. Sounds of incoherent pleasure tumbled from her lips, swallowed by the darkness. She began to move of her own accord,

"Ie, a ghrá, díreach mar sin." ( _Yes, my love, just like that._ )

The growling tenor of his voice shivered down her spine, pooling to liquid fire in her core. She cupped his jaw, pulling his head up for a kiss, one deep and undulating like their bodies down below. The sensation, the need for release began to wind through her until it was too strong to deny. She clamped her hands against his shoulders, leaning back for deeper leverage. He gripped her waist, supporting her arching back. Hair thrown back, her neck bent long, she cried out in one long unbroken wail, coiling around him.

He groaned, burying his face between her breasts as he pump quickly between her thighs. The pleasure never ebbed for her, only stretched, spiraling out in wave after wave, until her muscles began to tremble from being held taut for so long. His hands tighten on her waist, the pressure near to bruising. Hissing through his teeth, he jerking hard up against her, sinking as deep their bodies would allow, his essence spilling hotly inside her.

Sofia pried her eyes open, staring at the twinkling canopy of stars through the lattice work of branches until her the hard clenching of her muscles eases. She fell forward then, collapsing against his chest, completely spent. He caught her, cradling her in his arms as she listened to his slowing heart beat. Stroking his fingers carefully through her tangled curls, he bent down to peck an endearing kiss against her temple. He sighed, as if completely content. "A ghrá," he whispered against her hair.

For the second time in as many days, Sofia woke with a gasp, her most intimate parts burning in ecstatic pleasure. Her hands clenched at the fine silk sheets as she buried her face in her pillow to stifle her sounds. When the fierce cinching of her body began to unwind, she dared to pry her eyes open, seeing the faintest hint of sunlight cresting the tree line. She groaned, exhausted but certain there would be no more sleep for her this morning.

Plucking at her nightgown, damp with sweat, she decided a bath was in order before anything else. After that, though, she needed to speak with the witch that had started all of this.

* * *

Author's Note: So am I the only one that totally thinks there would be sorcerer groupies out there? I can totally see a case for some women wanting to seduce a sorcerer (a famous one good at what he does) just to say they did. So yeah, Cedric groupies, hence Cedric not a virgin. Maybe someday I'll write a de-virginizing Cedric story, but that day is not today. :)

I never can tell if Cedric's eyes are brown or hazel. In other stories I've made them brown, so in this one he has hazel eyes. No real reason.

 _Ifreann diabhal_ literally translated to damn hell, but I wanted something a bit stronger than that for its meaning. Fuck translates to just, well, fuck. So when Cedric curses, he means something like fucking hell.

Fun Fact: The Irish language does not have "yes" or "no" in it. I had to use a different language for yes.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Sometimes these transitioning/ expository chapters are the ones I have the hardest time with.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Four

* * *

 _Love is like war:_

 _Easy to begin, but very hard to stop._

-H.L. Mancken

* * *

Lucinda scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, grumbling to herself. Who in the name of the Great Goddess would be pounding on her door when the sun was barely up? And the morning after Samhain! She was going to hex them into next week, good witch or no good witch.

But she never got the chance. When she threw open her door, Sofia pushed her way eagerly in. "I had another dream."

Lucinda blinked at the frantic princess standing in her kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Sofia frowned, seeming to just now realize how early it was. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Lucinda sighed, dropping her wand on the table, hexes forgotten. "I'll make coffee."

* * *

Later when they were each settled with a hot cup in their hands, Lucinda pursed her lips in thought. "But I thought the spell only worked for one night. I'm sure I read that. Or, at least, I thought I did."

"Well, it was definitely the same man. And this dream was even stronger than the first."

"What do you mean?" Lucinda stifled a yawn.

"I remember more this time. I still couldn't see him, it was too dark, but I remember certain things he said. I didn't understand any of it, of course. But there was something, right at the end. He called me something, ahgraw I think it was. It seemed to be some sort of name, maybe a title."

"Ah graw?"

Sofia frowned, deciding that didn't sound quite right. "More like, a ghrá."

"Oh," the witch pretended to shiver, "Sounds dirty."

"I don't think so, though I'm not sure about some of the other things he said." She flushed. "He said it sort of soft, whispered it against my hair, like ... like a term of endearment."

Lucinda studied her for a moment. "Careful there, Sof, sounds like you might be falling for your own husband."

Her pulse quickened, and Sofia recognized the feeling as anxiety. It was all so much to take in. She was a maiden, a virgin who had never done more than dance with the opposite sex. And she'd never felt particularly enticed by their embraces. Despite being friendly and popular, she often preferred the quiet company of a few close companions to the throngs of admirers Amber liked to garner. Sofia had friend from all walks of life, and she loved them all in her special way, but none of them had ever inspired the depth of emotion that this dream man had. She found some of these emotions frightfully strong. Which reminded her why she'd come in the first place. "Luce, you said the spell was over, so why did I have another dream?"

The green-eyes girl chewed her lip. "Honestly ... I have no idea."

"But," she sputtered, unable to accept that as the only answer, "What does the spell say about it?"

"That's the thing ... I don't know. I put mom's spell book back so she wouldn't know I took it. I can't go back and read it now."

"But-," Sofia sputtered. "What am I supposed to do then?"

Lucinda thought a long moment before her shoulders dropped in defeat. She groaned, eyes sliding closed.

"What? What is it?"

The witch dropped her head onto her folded arms. "We're going to have to talk to my mom, aren't we?"

* * *

Cedric was having a hard time concentrating. Understandable, given the circumstances, but that didn't change the fact that he still had work to do. The royal family left All Hallow's Eve free for the village festival, but All Hallow's Day, November 1st, was the night of the Enchancia Costume Ball. And he had a whole bloody castle to enchant. He waved his wand with one hand, smothering a yawn with the other.

The dream he experienced last night was hazy by the morning light, but this time he was able to retain some fragmented pieces. Impressions mostly of feelings, and the odd piece of sensation.

He remembered being outdoors, in the woods of all places. It was very dark, but that hardly mattered because there was little time to look about before the sound of rustling leaves drew his attention to a figure running towards him. She'd crashed into his chest, screaming in high pitched terror. Somehow he knew her, the same woman as before, slight and delicate with a head full of loose inky curls. He could only recognize the vaguest sense of her outline, the darkness too complete.

He felt an astonishing reaction race through him at her fear. He didn't know why she was running, or what from, but he felt a fierce, and certainly foreign for him, desire to protect and comfort her. Usually inclined only to self-service, he'd certainly never been inspired to such bravery before. He was usually an unabashed coward by nature. But he'd soothed her, clasping her close, murmuring words of comfort in his ancestral lexicon. She couldn't possibly understand him, but that hardly mattered seeing how she was a figment of his imagination. His words seemed to sooth her, then ignite something inside her. She reached up, clasping her arms around his neck and dragged his mouth down to meet hers. And he's gone to her willingly.

That he was speaking to this woman, whispering words of love and comfort in his ancestral language disturbed him. Magic handlers only shared such secrets with those they possess the utmost love and trust for. Friendship was not binding enough. Even marriage didn't guarantee such conviction if the couple was not strong enough together. Some secrets were never relinquished between husband and wife, only the blood ties of children strong enough to pass on such coveted knowledge. They were just words, a code that unlocked the translation into plain language, but magic handling families guarded their secrets closely. Such mistrust was nurtured in them from birth and not easily renounced.

That he spoke to this dream woman to freely, spoke of a desire to share all of himself with her. No one in his life held such devotion or trust. Even Sofia didn't know all the dark shadows of his soul, even if she was the one person who had come the closest to tempting him to reveal all. But the intimacy of his dream spoke of a relationship much different from the one he shared with the princess.

He'd littered this dream woman with kisses, stroking her breasts to stiff peaks. And when they'd fallen to the ground, clothes dissolved away in the way of dreams, and he'd lifted her up before lowering her down to mate their bodies together, he'd never felt anything so amazing, so complete in his pathetic life. No coupling with any woman of flesh and blood had ever inspired such ardor as the vision in his dream. But it wasn't just the physical pleasure, but the emotion predicating it.

He didn't want to simply bed this woman. He wanted to _worship_ her.

The feelings he had for this fantasy woman were shocking not only their intensity, but their newness. Cedric knew many layers of emotion in his life: the warm, comfortable love for his mother; the complicated resentment mixed with obsequious attachment to his father; restrained devotion to Sofia shot through with a sense of self-preservation that kept her at arm's length despite their close friendship; paternal pride for Calista; and borderline apathy for Cordelia mixed with guilt that he didn't love his only sibling more.

But what he'd felt at the end of his dream, as he held this woman in his arms, easing her shaking body down to rest against his chest, still joined intimately, her ear pressed against his heartbeat- that feeling he had never felt before in his life. That memory was crystal clear in his mind. The one where he petted her hair, combing through her long curls to touch the downy smooth skin of her back. He pressed his lips to her temple, whispering with reverence, "My love."

Overwhelming and unrelenting in its ferocity, naked and kneeling the dirt, her warm body draped over his lap, pressed tight to his chest, he could barely breath around the emotions that filled him. They were so foreign and yet so intuitive. He never wanted to let her go.

So, of course, that's exactly when he woke up. Torn from the warmth and comfort of her presence into cold, empty reality. Oh joy. And with another mess to clean to top it off.

In the light of day, squinting with fatigue, he desperately wished his sleep tonight would be blank and dreamless. This dream woman proved a disconcerting harbinger, reminding him of uncomfortable parts of his reality. He should be reveling in the pleasant diversion she provided, blithely pulling out bits of memory when it please him, easing the dullness of his days. Instead he wanted to push her as far from his conscience mind as he could, sweeping her back into the inky depths of his subconscious that birthed her. She made him _feel_ things. Things he shouldn't. Things he didn't allow himself to acknowledge, having built a comfortable wall of denial which to hide behind. Cracks had begun to fissure through that wall the moment Sofia slipped her fingers between his, unwittingly setting the memory of this dream woman free.

Now this wild incantation, this nymph born of starlight and desire haunted him, her memory whispering in his ear throughout the day, the ghost of her arms caressing him , infusing his loins and heart with longing. An intangible phantom, he feared what she really represented: a dangerous desire for love and connection that threatened to overwhelm him with its ferocity.

He shook his head, viciously trampling down his paranoid musings, resolutely focusing on the many tasks at hand. She was a dream, nothing more. A fantasy, a specter who didn't exists, he told himself, even as his heart gave a miserable pang at the loss.

* * *

"You stole my spellbook? Oh, Lucinda, I've never been so proud of you."

Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Focus, Mom, now is not the time to go all misty eyed over wicked deeds."

"Right," Marla, Lucinda's mother, opened the book before her. Sofia recognized it as the family grimoire. "Ah, here it is, the _Proffwydoliaeth_ spell."

Her long, painted nail skimmed over the lines of script, moving down the page. "I remember this one. Not particularly wicked, but still plenty naughty. My friends and I tried this ritual when we were about your age. None of us could complete the spell, though. The cake we made smelled like feet."

"Wait," Lucinda interupted her mother's reminicing. "What do you mean complete the spell? I thought you only had to eat some of it."

"Nope," Marla smiled, popping the "p" on the end of the word. "To complete the spell you have to eat your entire ninth portion. Hence, why Sofia here seems to be the only one affected."

"Well, if I'd known that," Lucinda muttered, digruntled. "Okay, but I thought the spell only lasted one night."

"It _can_ only last one night, but this is Samhain, Dearie, the veil between the worlds has begun to thin, lending all sort of strength to spells like this. You, little witch, opened a door without knowing how to close it."

"So," Sofia sat forward, looking at the page, though she couldn't read it, "How do I stop it? How do I close the door?"

"It may be that you can't, Dearie. Magic isn't a toy to play with. Some spells carry serious consequences. Normally I'd be delighted, hearing that a spell was causing some one distress." She shrugged. "Wicked witch and all. But from what you say, it sounds like you've forged a strong connection with this person. A connection like that cannot be so easily severed. Are you sure ending these dreams is really what you want?"

"What do you mean?" The princess asked.

"Magic, real magic, not simple parlor tricks or the odd hex, shouldn't be worked without a clear purpose in mind. You threw open the barriers to your mind, inviting this man in with no regard for control. You are not steering these vision, like you should. You're like a puppet, being lead. The magic is pulling the strings, when really you should be holding the reins. You're actually rather lucky these vision are as pleseant as they have been. If your future husband were a different sort of person, it could be most unplesant indeed."

She took a slip of her coffee. "I can only imagine how he feels about being drug into this chaos."

Sofia stopped, her cup half way to her lips. "Wait, what?"

"Your man," the older witch clarified. "I just wonder how he feels about being drawn into these dreams."

Lucinda and Sofia blinked in unison. They turned to look at each other, then back at the older witch, both sharing identical looks of surprise and confusion.

"You did realize," Marla said slowly, "that you are not the only one experiencing these dreams?"

Sofia shook her head slowly while Lucinda cringed, prompting the older witch to throw her head back cackling.

"I'm sorry," she huffed, when she could breathe a little again, "I don't mean to laugh, but you two just look so stunned. Lucinda, dear, you really need to read a spell more carefully next time before you cast it. Why do you think it's hidden in my grimoire? If it was a simple matter of conjuring a single dream, you don't need to go to so much trouble for that. The spell you cast is so much more."

She took another sip before setting her cup down. "Samhain divination is powerful magic. With the veil between world thinned, even the smallest spell can travel across the realms. You two haven't just conjured a simple vision of Sofia's future lover, you have actually called him to her."

"Are you saying," Sofia clutched her amulet, worrying it between her fingers in a nervous gesture, "that these aren't just dreams. That we're actually ... That he and I have ..."

The princess's face turned red, trying to articulate around her sudden embarrassment and alarm.

The older witch reached out to pat her hand. "If you mean, have you physically consummated your relationship? The answer is no. You're not meeting him in the physical realm, but in one of the shadowy dream worlds between realms. Your minds are involved, prompting, I've no doubt a physical release in your bodies, but you are not actually copulating with him in the flesh."

Sofia's face burned, but she felt relief. The dreams were uncomfortable enough for her to bear, but the thought that she'd bodily consummated her marriage before even meeting her husband was far too distressing. "But," she said slowly, when she could speak again, "is he aware of this?"

Marla shrugged. "Yes and no. For now he's probably no more aware than thinking he's having some pretty intense erotic dreams. He's probably not aware of who you are, or that you are, in fact, a real live person."

"Will he become more aware?"

"Depends. Some people can be awfully dense even when the truth is starting them in the face, but right now you're the one in charge. You see what you are ready to see. You reveal to him what you are ready to reveal."

"I thought you said I wasn't in control. That the magic was leading the dreams."

"Point taken. More like your subconscious is in charge to a certain degree. This is your spell, so you are tied to it. You haven't seen him because you are not ready to see him yet. You're still frightened of what he represents."

"And what's that?"

"You tell me," Marla shrugged. "Sexual abandon, loss of innocence, a change in the status quo, could be any number of reasons. But you do have some measure of control, and you can work on gaining more control ... for now."

"What does that mean?" Lucinda asked, frowning at the ominous sound of those last words.

"You two," she pointed between the two young woman, "in your dabbling seemed to have forgotten one very important element here, it take two to make a marriage bed. You called to this man, Sofia. That you can hear him speak in another language, one you don't understand, that between the two of you only he could know, means that he is answering you. He may not be aware yet, but he will become more so. That he can exert some control, without knowing what is happening, means he has power."

Sofia couldn't look at Lucinda, although she felt the other girl giving her a significant look. "You mean like magic?"

"He could be a magic handler, but it could be as simple as possessing a strong personality. I know of young woman for who the _Proffwydoliaeth_ spell became a nightmare. He future husband proved a man of terrible, but strong character. He took control of their dreams, forcing himself upon his future bride night after night. So distraught about her future, she took her own life."

"By the Goddess," Sofia shivered, hugging her arms tightly over her chest. "That's horrible."

"The world," Marla said gently, giving them both a significant look, "is not always a nice place. And magic is hardly ever easy, and rarely pleasant.

"But," she added, seeing that she had affected the princess so, "You could also consider that perhaps your man has the ability to take control of these dreams and is choosing not to. Perhaps he is giving you the space to discover him. Or, maybe he feels as you do, and he is scared of where this relationship will lead, and what it will reveal."

What the witch suggested hinted at a certain level of vulnerability in this man. Sofia thought on his manner with her, strong, intense, but also soft and tender. She felt _safe_ with him from the beginning, though she really had no reason to do so. But the loss of control, the loss of her autonomy still frightened her.

Marla sighed. Rising off her chair, she went to a dresser, searching through the contents of one drawer. She pulled out a candle and some jars of herbs. "Severing such a connection can be done if you wish it," she explained, "But you should know it could be detrimental for one or both of you. If your dreams were ... non-consentual, I wouldn't hesitate to help you, but it sounds like that is not the case at all."

Sofia flushed as Marla came back to the table, setting down the candles and twisting open jars. A strong, herbacious smell filled the air as she sellected some dried leaves from one and tied them to the branches she retrived from another jar. Using a bit of string she tied together a smuging stick.

"As I said, magic should never be worked without a clear purpose. If you wish it, burn these herbs until they smoke, then waft the smoke around your bed counter clockwise. Snuff out the herbs, then light the candle and keep it lit as you sleep."

Sofia took the white candle Marla held out to her. A red symbol was carved into the side. "Will that make the dreams stop?"

"What it will do is give you full control over your dreams. What you do from there will be up to you. You can stop them, if that is your wish. Or, when you are ready, you can use this magic to revel yourself to this man and he to you. But think on this, Sofia," Marla looked her directly in the eye to see she had the young woman's full attention. "The connection between you is strong for a reason. You have let the magic run wild with you so far, and it has not hurt you. Trust your instincts. Trust what the magic is telling you about him. If you listen, it will guide you to the right decision."

* * *

Author's Note: More sexiness coming in the next chapter.

Proffwydoliaeth - means prophecy in welsh


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Sorry, I lied. No lemons in this chapter. I had to cut it into two chapters for ease of editing and length. And this way you get a chapter today. Chapter 6, which is really part 2 of this chapter, will be up tomorrow. For ambiance, if you were curious, I listened to Jess Glynne's and Emeli Sande's _The Saddest Vanilla_ quite a bit while doing the final edit on this.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter 5

* * *

The Want of You

 _The want of you is like no other thing;_

 _It smites my soul with sudden sickening;_

 _It binds my being with a wreath of rue -_

 _This want of you._

 _It flashed on me with the waking sun;_

 _It creeps upon me when the day is done;_

 _It hammers at my heart the long night through -_

 _This want of you._

 _It sighs within me with the misting skies;_

 _Oh, all the day within my heart it cries,_

 _Old as your absence, yet each moment new -_

 _This want of you._

 _Mad with demand and aching with despair,_

 _It leaps within my heart and you are - where?_

 _God has forgotten, of He never knew -_

 _This want of you._

\- Ivan Leonard Wright

* * *

When Sofia went down towards the All Hallow's Ball, she found Cedric skulking in the hallway. Upon seeing him, a smile blossomed over her face. He was dressed in the same style as always except his robes were black. She'd suggested the change, convincing him that a royal sorcerer should have a formal set of robes for occasions such as this. But what made her smile was the orange bow tied at his throat, despite that she'd returned his usual yellow one last night. She sauntered up to him, giving the adornment a tug, fluffing up the edges.

He huffed in feigned annoyance as she groomed him. "Don't you look festive," she teased.

"I told you, I don't do festive."

Never one to be put off by his bland tone, she only smiled wider, canting her chin up towards him. "How about handsome, then? You look very handsome."

She giggled brushing her satin gloved hands over his shoulders. Cedric had to stop himself from reaching to grasp her waist. The inclination to shift into an intimate embrace felt natural, but the reality of doing so was anything but. That the desire to draw her closer came upon him at all made him feel hot and flustered.

Sofia seemed similarly affected. Teasing tone aside, she did find him quite handsome, she just rarely felt the confidence to say so. Cedric usually brushed off such personal remarks, making her feel as if she shouldn't have said anything at all. But now he stayed quiet, looking down on her with a strange soft look in his hazel eyes. She lowered her own, smile dimming around the edges. Something about this felt ... familiar. A vertigo inducing sense of déjà vu best upon her.

Nervously, she pretended to pluck an invisible bit of lint from his lapel before backing up a step. "So," she stuttered, needing something to say to take her mind off the sudden jolt in her pulse, "how do I look?"

She turned a circle for his appraisal. She'd fashioned the costume herself, having a gown dip dyed to darken from light blue at the top of the bodice through midnight blue, down to a hem of black. Silver embroidery adorned the strapless bodices. In the layers of her ruched skirt, the light caught a thousand glittery facets, twinkling like stars. Instead of a tiara, she wore a tear drop diadem that graced her brow, twinkling with jewels. Diamonds no doubt.

"You look," - _beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal-_ , "Good. You look- you look good. What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm the night sky. I enchanted it myself. What do you think?"

Cedric stared, momentarily hypnotized. Her skirts swayed with every movement, the light changing constantly. She twinkled like the stars, like the sky from his dream last night.

 _Ifreann diabhal,_ sometimes Sofia was so beautiful that it physically hurt him to look at her. Now was one of those times, and that was usually his cue to look away, reminding himself that it wasn't his place to think of her that way. But today, now, he kept looking.

 _Tá tú rí-dhathúil_ _._ ( _You are so beautiful._ ) The words trembled on the tip of his tongue. She'd never understand and he didn't have to tell her what he meant no matter how she pestered him. And she would pester. He swallowed the words down. These dreams were turning his mind inside out, making him foolish.

"Impressive," he managed, keeping his tone as flat as possible so she wouldn't hear the waver in it. "My compliments to your teacher."

Cedric's reaction, his dispassionate response cut at something inside her. It was then that she realized how much she'd wanted to impress him with her costume. Why she'd chosen something magical, she wanted to show off. For him. Once again she thought on Lucinda's suggestion that Cedric was the man from her dreams. But she pushed the notion aside, although somewhat sadly this time. Cedric had never spoken to her the way the man in her dream had, with such reverence, such awe in his voice. She forced a cheeky smirk onto her face. "I'll let him know, that is if he can fit his ego inside the castle."

Cedric winced, and she felt a tiny stab of guilt. How was she to know he winced because he could tell from the slight edge in her voice that he'd hurt her feelings.

Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, she tried for nonchalance between them again. "Too bad I didn't go with my first idea, we could have matched."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"I was going to dress as a pumpkin this year."

Cedric frowned at that. "What would you wear? Just an orange dress? "

"Pretty much."

He shook his head, making a face. "I like this idea better. You're not particularly ... pumpkin shaped."

King Magnus waddled past them on his way into the ballroom, giving Sofia a nod of acknowledgement. His brunt orange tunic of velvet stretched tightly across his large belly.

"Now that," Cedric muttered, leaning down to murmur in her ear, "Is pumpkin-shaped."

Sofia giggled despite herself, slapping his shoulder. "That isn't nice."

"And yet you laughed."

They passed through the grand door of the ballroom, and Sofia gasped in delight. "Cedric did you do all this?"

Carved jack-o-lanterns floated near the ceiling, flickering candles lighting them from within. Enchanted bats swooping through the rafters (they were mere illusions, as Sofia would never abide the use of real animals for a mere display). Orange, gold and russet ribbons spiraling from every buttress, draping the affair in autumn colors.

"Mostly." He sounded pleased by her reaction. "Of course, I had to do it myself as my apprentice was nowhere to be found."

Sofia's cheeks flushed pink, remembering what had preoccupied her most of the day. Maria's candle and herbs were safely hidden in her bedside drawer, but she still wasn't sure if she could use them.

They lingered in the doorway a moment. As much as Sofia still enjoyed every ball at the castle, she always hated this moment; the one when she and Cedric had to part, her going to socialize with her royal friends, while he hung on the fringes, speaking to the retinue of visiting kingdoms. Mostly he stuck to mingling with the magic handler, other royal sorcerers and sorceresses, enchantresses, warlocks and the like. Otherwise he found a quiet corner and glowered his way through the evening until it was considered late enough to politely leave.

"Time to show off your hard work," he motioned to her glittering gown.

"Yeah," Sofia couldn't quite make her smile reach her eyes. His opinion had been the one that mattered most and she tried not to feel down that he appeared less than impressed.

They continued to linger and finally Cedric took her hand from the crook of his elbow, holding it momentarily in his hand. On some strange impulse he drew her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the satin covered back of her hand. Sofia drew in a quick breath.

He laughed a little nervously, letting go of her hand. "Your audience awaits."

Sofia nodded vaguely, staring into his hazel eyes. She'd always found them fascinating. Dark at the edges, then filled with a tawny brown, flecked with green. She wanted to tell him to wait, to stay by her side, but she couldn't do that. It wasn't allowed. He walked away first, leaving her to contemplate the warmth of her fingers where he'd held her hand.

* * *

Sofia tried valiantly to put Cedric from her mind. She tried to tell herself that his behavior wasn't so odd, she was just reading imaginary messages into it. Her new dreams had rattled her, leaving her grasping for some form of balance and meaning. She'd probably never met this mystery lover before, might not meet him for years to come. Still filled with curiosity, though, she circled the room, offering greetings to every person she knew. She stopped to talk to several guests and close friends, circumspectly sprinkling in questions about the dialects of their home lands. But she could find none that matched the strange undulating language from her dreams.

She also failed to recognize a single man that reminded her of her future husband and lover. The closest she came was a jolt of nervous energy when someone grabbed her from behind, squeezing her waist in a crushing embrace. Once set back on her feet, she whirled around to find Hugo grinning impishly. He held her at arm's length, taking in her costume.

He gave a low whistle through his pursed lips. "Well, aren't you the most beautiful vision I ever laid eyes on."

Sofia smirked, knowing his words were nothing but empty flattery. Hugo could pay her the most outlandish compliments, because he loved her as a friend and nothing more. But when it came to other girls, ones he held a real interest for, he tended to stutter and stumble over his words, going red faced and flustered.

She wondered momentarily if Hugo could be the man, literally, of her dreams. They had a good report with each other and he'd grown into a handsome young man, but she'd never felt more than friendship towards him. And when they hugged, a real one this time, he felt all wrong. Too short, she realized, even with her heels giving her an extra two inches of height. And too wide around the waist and chest.

She knew the chances of discovering her dream lover tonight was a long shot, but she couldn't help having some hope. But that didn't mean she couldn't perhaps uncover some clues.

Desmond, she realized when she saw the sandy haired prince across the room, he was fluent in half a dozen languages, and could recognize half a dozen more by ear. She corralled him from a group of young men, begging him for a dance. He obliged eagerly, not because he felt any particular attraction to dancing with her, but he and Sofia often occupied each other on the dance floor, keeping other, more determined partners at bay. Hildegard had taken an alarming interest in him lately and he was desperate to escape her.

Sofia held his hand in hers, placing her other demurely on his shoulder. He did the same, never reaching for the more intimate hold of her waist.

"I have a favor to ask," she began, "But I may need to occupy you for a while."

"Good," he peered anxiously over her shoulder. "Hildegard had been hounding me all night. I could use a break. So, how can I be of assistance? And feel free to talk as slowly as you want."

Sofia smiled gratefully. "Tell me everything about every language you know."

Two dances later she realized she should have been more specific. Desmond was indeed desperate for a distraction against the Freezenburg princess. But Sofia really didn't need to know about the verb conjugations of the Tangu Bedouins.

"Thank you," she interrupted gently, "Really, for that very _thorough_ explanation. What I really need is to place something I heard. It's a language I don't recognize but I hoped you might. Have you ever heard the term a ghrá before?"

"A ghrá," he parroted, getting the inflection correct on the first try. Sofia's hopes soared, until he said, "No, I can't say I have. A-gro means turnip in Freezeburgian. Could that be it?"

Sofia cringed. "I certainly hope not."

"It's hard to place an entire language based on one word. Did you catch any more of this language?"

Sofia thought hard. "Nothing so clear that I could repeat it."

"Maybe if you tell me the context in which you heard it. Was it from a visiting noble? A villager?"

"Um, you know I don't really remember that well. So, it doesn't sound like any of the languages you know?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, Sof."

"Thanks anyway. Uh oh, Freezenburg princess approaching fast."

He sighed. "I knew it couldn't last forever. Thanks for the distraction at least."

* * *

"You're not going to hide in the corner all night like always, are you?"

Sofia turned, recognizing the bored, patronizing tone of her sister. "Hello to you too, Amber. And I'm not hiding."

"Then why are you here by the wall instead of on the floor dancing."

"I danced," she insisted. "I dance with Hugo and then Desmond."

"Hugo and Desmond?" She snorted. "You're not fooling me with those two. I know you and Desmond use each other like shields against the wolves. And Hugo trips all over his feet when he dances with a girl he actually fancies. Dancing with those two is just another kind of hiding."

She didn't want to think on what Amber was saying, but she couldn't help it. She had a point. Sofia often danced with men, young and old, but when they looked at her with a particular interest in their eyes, inviting her to further dancing, or to accompany her in a cup of punch, she always demurred, finding some excuse to flee. She'd never found anyone that felt right. She felt comfortable with Hugo, Desmond, even Zandar, because they all treated her like a sister, not a potential love interest. Everyone else felt at best tolerable, and at worse all wrong.

And Cedric, well she didn't know because she wasn't allowed to dance with Cedric. She could hug him in private, hold his arm in front of guests, but dancing at a royal ball was a social misstep too far. She would gladly suffer the sidelong cutting glances to dance with him, it was Cedric who wouldn't relent.

"There's no one I want to dance with," she lied. "Besides, I like looking at all the costumes."

Amber let out a long suffering sigh. "I don't even know why you bothered with Lucinda's Samhain spell. You'll never find a husband skulking in the corner, surrounding yourself with eunuchs like Desmond and Hugo."

"Desmond and Hugo are my friends." Sofia's voice hardened to steel, unwilling to let such insults to her friends pass.

"Exactly," Amber threw up her hands. "Your friends, nothing more. You have no romantic prospects, Sofia. What you need to do -"

Amber kept on talking, but Sofia tuned her out. She'd heard such lectures before. Her sister sounded callous, cold and without sympathy for Sofia's plight, but really Amber wanted her sister to find happiness. This Sofia knew deep down, so she let Amber go on, imparting overbearing, unsolicited advice. Sofia let her eyes rove, moving unfocused over the ballroom. Across the room she found Cedric, speaking to the doddering old Wizard from Kaldune. He looked bored silly, not even pretending to nod along to whatever the old man was saying. He caught Sofia looking at him, giving her a lopsided smile. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, tilting his head to indicate the wizard at his side.

Sofia giggled, causing Amber to lose her stride. "Sofia, are you listening?"

Sofia pulled her attention from across the room, turning towards her irate sister. There she paused a moment to contemplate the exchange that just transpired. Cedric's lopsided smile, his conspiratorial communication with her across the room has not only made her laugh, but sent a jolt of warmth radiating through her chest. Her brow furrowed, thinking that it wasn't Cedric who was acting strangely, but her. These dreams were turning everything upside down, making her question everyone and everything around her.

"Honestly, Amber, I wasn't really listening." A maid passed with a tray of champagne flutes. She took one, drinking down half the contents in a single, greedy gulp. "But, you're right."

"I am? I mean, of course I am."

"Yes, I need to loosen up a little. I have been far too stressed lately."

"Did I say that? Whoa, slow down, Sofia, you know you're a lightweight when it comes to alcohol."

Sofia drained the second half of her glass, feeling the bubbles tickle her nose. Drinking was never the solution to a problem, she knew, but she wanted just a few hours where she didn't feel weighed down with uncertainty and stress.

She set her empty glass on a passing tray. Ignoring Amber's disapproving glower, she grabbed another full glass.

* * *

Author's Note: So I know some of you are probably going, "Really? With the lies and the misunderstandings! Can't they just figure this out already?" Don't worry, since this is a relatively short fic, things will work themselves out fairly quickly. But there has to be at least a little bit of misunderstanding between them.

Originally I was going to have Sofia dressed in orange so she and Cedric matched, but then I had the idea of her "dazzling" him in a sparkling dress. And the night sky theme as a wink and a nod to the last dream.

Remember how I said I wasn't going to get bogged down in character development? Remember when I said this story was going to be all of 4 or 5 chapter long. Yeah, I'm hilarious sometimes with the lies I tell myself. But fear not, there looks to be 10 chapters in all. So we're not too far from the end.

Review please! They make my day and make me want to write faster. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This chapter was already mostly written, so, Yay! Super fast update.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter 6

* * *

 _"O love, what strange and wonderful fits:_

 _One sole thing, one beauty alone,_

 _Can give me life and deprive me of my wits._

 _-Gaspara Stampa_

* * *

Well past midnight, Sofia giggled her way down the hall. Cedric held her arm, mostly to keep her in a straight line. She wasn't completely drunk, but pleasantly toasted was a good description for it.

She pulled pins from her hair with her free hand, letting her tresses cascade down from their complicated arraignment. She always felt a sense of relief at the end of the day when she was finally able to let her hair trail down, free of the pins and jeweled adornments that pulled at her scalp. "Hold me for these, won't you?"

She fell into a fit of laughter, before letting out an undignified snort. "I meant, hold these for me, won't you?"

"You might have noticed," he held up his other hand, her heeled slippers dangling from his fingers, "That my hands are full at the moment."

She bite her lip, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and reached over, delving her hand into his pocket. Cedric startled at the gesture, her hand wiggling against his hip. But the sensation was gone quickly, as she deposited her hair pins and pulled her hand back out. "There."

Cedric tried to regain his composure. "Whatever possessed you to drink so much tonight?"

Usually he only stayed long enough to avoid the king's displeasure, but when he caught sight of Sofia drinking down glasses of champagne, he decided to stay until it was seemly to escort the princess back to her room.

"I didn't," she insisted. "Amber says I'm a ... a ... featherweight."

"You mean, lightweight."

"That's it!" She exclaimed much too loudly. "You're so smart."

"Mm," he grunted non-committally.

She frowned, her mood turning somber. "Amber also says I don't try hard enough."

"To do what?" He yawned.

She rolled her eyes, pitching her voice into a dramatic tone. "With boys, men, whatever you call them. She says I'll never find a husband with the way I am. Well," She smiled secretively, "Goes to show you what she knows. I will have a husband someday. And he'll be sweet, and kind and he'll be _great_ in bed."

Cedric nearly stumbled over his own feet. When he regained his footing, he scowled. "Must we talk about this? It's hardly appropriate conversation."

They walked a few more steps before he added, "Besides, you seemed to have no problem with young men."

Her face, which had been blushing that she let such information slip out in front of Cedric, worked its way into a scowl. "What does that mean?"

"I just meant, you seem to have no issue finding partners to dance with tonight?"

"Oh," her scowl smoothed away, "You mean Hugo and Desmond? They're just friends."

"That dark haired boy hardly looked friendly when he was pawing all over you."

She realized he was talking about Hugo, but she marveled at the unmistakable edge in his tone. If she didn't know any better, she would think he was _angry_. "Why, Cedric," she asked in amazement, "are you jealous?"

He frowned, as if the accusation was beneath a reply, but a subtle flush crept over his cheeks.

"You know very well," she rested her head against his shoulder, "That I would dance with you if only you would let me."

"And you know very well, that is not proper behavior for a princess."

She stuck her tongue, making a disgusted face. "I don't care what others think."

"Do you care what your father thinks?"

His voice was deceptively calm, but Sofia still heard the tiniest note of bitterness in his tone. Her father, the king, was a subject they often avoided. Her mother might gently reprove her at times for her un-princess-like behavior, but there was rarely any real disapproval in it. More often, Miranda was just trying to help steer her daughter on the ever complicated path of life as a royal. And for the sake of her own marriage, Sofia knew her mother tried to present a united front with her husband. Even so, Roland was really the one most concerned with her princessly decorum.

"I will have you know, Dad says I can marry whoever I want," she replied, somewhat defensively.

Cedric's brow furrowed. "Who's discussing marriage? I thought we were talking about dancing."

"Oh," Sofia flushed, remembering, "Yes, we were. So, if I can marry whoever I want, then it follows that I can dance with whoever I want."

She smiled widely at her own clever logic.

"I don't think he'll see it quite that way," he muttered under his breath.

"You're just being stubborn."

"I prefer realistic."

"Stubborn," she insisted. She made a big show of looking all around the empty hall. "Well, my father's isn't here now. In fact no one is, so ..."

He looked at her, confused. "So?"

"So, dance with me, please."

"No."

She stopped in the middle of the hall, forcing him to stop as well. Slipping out of his grasp, she only teetered a little as she backed up. Gathering her skirts, she dipped into a deep curtsy. She canted her head up, looking at him from her bowed position. "Mister Cedric," she pleaded in her most beguiling voice, batting her eyelashes. "Would you do me the honor of favoring me with a dance?"

Cedric felt unsure that he could breath, let alone answer. "There's no music."

Drunkenly, she giggled. She reached for him, folding her hand into his. She grabbed his other arm, leading him to hold her waist. He still had her slippers dangling from his fingers. "A waltz goes like this: One- two, thee. One- two, three. Like this," she warbled out a simple melody of three notes, "Da-da,da."

"Sofia-," he began to protest, but she cut him off.

"Shhh! Don't interrupt me when I'm counting." Her mischievous smile told him she wouldn't take no for an answer.

He tried to sound put upon, but his voice came out thin. "If you insist."

When she began to sing this time, they moved together. All her clumsy intoxication melted away as he lead her gracefully into a wide circle around the open hall. Sofia smiled broadly, her voice gaining strength as she crooned her simple melody. Cedric held her at a proper arm's length, but she couldn't help concentrating on the warmth of his hand on her waist, wishing he'd draw her closer. But he never did, though he gazed upon her face with an intensity she'd never seen before in his eyes. It fairly stole her breath, and as they completed their circuit of the wide hall her timid song evaporated.

Sofia released him reluctantly. She forced a lightness into her voice that she didn't feel. "Thank you for the dance, kind Sir."

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, then seemed to collect himself. "It's late. You should be getting to bed."

 _Yes_ , she thought dryly, _to bed_. Which meant to dreaming, which meant to _him_. Would Cedric be ushering her off to bed so quickly if he knew what awaited her? He seemed jealous of her dances with Hugo and Desmond, would he be jealous if he knew about the man in her dreams? Not that she'd tell him. Jealousy meant he cared, and caring meant his feeling could be hurt by such information, so she kept he lips tightly sealed. When they reached her door she took her slippers from him, opening the door to her room. There she paused.

"Thank you, Cedric." Before she could make better sense of what she was doing she turned quickly. Rising up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her hand rested on his shoulders for balance, and when she pulled back she hesitated a moment, gazing wide-eyed at his face. He looked subtly shocked, expression loose, lips parted, but he didn't push her away. His fingertips had come up on instinct, resting lightly against her waist.

The moment lasted no longer than the span of perhaps four or five of his heartbeats, but in that time Cedric had the capacity to envision bending down to capture those soft, pouting lips. To wonder what she would do if he pressed her back against the door, her softly lit dress twinkling in the low light as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tangling his fingers into those loose silky curls.

Sofia blinked, breaking the spell that had settled between them. Cedric left go of her waist, stepping hastily back. "G-goodnight, then."

Sofia grasped blindly for the doorknob behind her back, still blinking in startled wonder. "Good night, Cedric."

Cedric watched her disappear behind the door, wondering what had just passed between them.

* * *

By the time Sofia shed her twinkling dress, washed her face and dressed for bed, the pleasant bubble of apathy supplied by alcohol had burst, leaving her unsure again. She sat on the edge of her bed, gazing down into her bedside drawer. The candle and herbs Maria had given her laid quietly inside, waiting for her to decided what she wanted to do. Magic shouldn't be worked without a clear purpose, the witch had said. Sofia sat a long time wondering what purpose she wanted. Did she want to shut these dreams away?

 _The connection between you is strong for a reason._

After the first night, she had been a little afraid of him. Afraid of the emotions he stirred in her. The next time she dreamed, she'd been lost in the woods, scared and alone. He had been the one to calm and comfort her. Once she had realized it was him, a strong sense of relief had flooded through her and she wasn't afraid any more.

Maria said he could hurt her if he wished. He could take control of the dream if he tried, but nothing he'd said or done suggested that he would do anything bad to her.

 _Trust your instincts._

She closed her eyes, just breathing, letting her mind settle, hand on the drawer's handle. When she opened her eyes again, she slowly slid the drawer closed. She wasn't ready to sever the connection, nor was she ready to revel herself to him and he to her. She should want that, she knew, but her pulse quickening in her throat told her _not yet_.

Slipping under the covers, she laid down as a soft rain began to fall against the windows. Sleep seemed a long way off, but the gentle rhythm of the falling rain lulled her and before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

Sofia woke up in a dark room, the bed beneath her not her own. Her heavy-lidded eyes searched the darkness, unable to decipher the alien shadows, only seeing clearly a small arched window set high along the wall. Rain pattered against the glass, the clouds blocking most of the moonlight. Her eyes slid closed again and her lips parted. Someone was kissing her neck.

She lay on her back beneath a heavy blanket. Lifting a sluggish hand, she felt the warmth of a man's skin beneath her fingers. He lay beside her, lips caressing the sensitive line of her throat. He gripped her chin lightly, gently turning her head aside to allow for better access to her neck. She obliged him, her pulse increasing to match her panting breath. His hand slid down, caressing light circles under her chin, pressing softly into the hollow at the base of her throat.

He raised up, shifting further over her and she reveled in the contact of his bare skin against her own. His hands roved over her chest. Her head fell back, gasping as her thighs clenched, trying to heighten the electrifying sensation of his hand on her breast. His fingers left tingling trails down her belly as he kissed his way down her neck, then her shoulder, and chest. His hair tickled her sensitive skin.

His tongue circled her areola before his mouth closed over the tip of her breast. She made a high whimpering sound she'd never heard her throat make before when he sucked deeply, his tongue flickering over the tight peak. His hand slipped to her pubis, begging entrance.

He pulled back, his breath whispering over her wet nipple, adding a torment of its over. "Oscailte go dtí mé, a ghrá." ( _Open for me, my love.)_

She worried her head back and forth, not understanding his words, but when he pressed against her mons, her legs fell open. He fingered her throbbing flesh while his mouth moved to her other breast, giving it his devoted attention. Sofia squirmed, no longer recognizing herself. Who was this woman, this wanton who moaned and writhed? Who tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her? When he curled his fingers, delving inside, she threw back her head, groaning. He abandoned her breast to kiss her mouth and she found herself clinging to him. Distant thunder rumbled outside.

She gave a small, distressed cry when he took his fingers away. He reached over, finding her hand in the dark. Gently he lead her to cup his erect manhood against her palm. She grasp him eagerly, wanting to impart some pleasure of her own. His fingers went back to her wet sex and she copied his movements, stroking her hand up and down his length at a tempo to match his as he played her. Their mouths found each other in the dark and she kissed him desperately. He groaned and she found his enjoyment of her movements as exciting as his ministrations to her body. She wanted to please him, to return the pleasure he gave her. To do so made the fire in her belly kindle into an inferno.

Any sense of tempo was lost, though, when her body began to wind tight, preparing to let go. His fingers pumped and she couldn't stop herself from writhing against him, mating herself against his hand. He didn't seem bothered by her inattention, moving out of her loosened grip to position himself between her legs, fingers still busy working her sex.

"Sin é, ceann milis,"( _That's it, sweet one_ ) he whispered, his voice thick with desire, "teacht go dtí mé." ( _Come for me.)_

The sound of his voice, rough and husky, tipped her over the edge. She jerked against his fingers, crying out as she came. Before she finished, he was there between her legs, the head of his manhood replacing his fingers. He pushed forward slowly, making her feel every inch as he filled her convulsing channel, making her come all over again.

Kneeling before her, she could only make out the barest outline of his shape in the darkness. He grasped her beneath the crook of each knee, pulling her hips off the bed. Instinctively she curled her tailbone up, shifting her weight back on her shoulders. He opened her legs wider, sinking to the hilt. Sofia panted, unaccustomed to such decadent pleasure. Her womb convulsed, clenching around every inch of him buried deep inside her. He felt amazing, but not nearly so good as when he began to move, pulling out slowly, before reentering as the same maddening pace.

Lifted up the way she was, she was constrained from moving against him the way she wished to. Whining, she tried to convey her distress with this deliciously torturous pace. Thunder rumbled again, closer than before and rain began to pelt the window in earnest. Sofia felt a kinship to the coming storm, her own body drenched in a deluge of desire. But she needed more. She wanted the storm to break. For him to break, to take her hard and wild as he had before.

She didn't know the words, her own polite upbringing hindering her vocabulary, unprepared for a request like this. All she could think to say was, "Please."

His hips snapped forward, hard, filling her completely. She cried out, neck arching. Lighting laced the sky, painting the inside of her eyelids white. Her single worded plea produced the effect she'd hoped as he dropped all pretense of patience and began pounding against her parted thighs. Her body clenched, convulsed, pulled at him and she realized she wanted - _needed_ \- him nearer to her. She wanted his body atop hers, his kisses on her lips.

She reached a hand out blindly, splaying her fingers over his heart. "Come here," she pleaded.

He complied immediately, dropping her hips back to the bed to lie along her body, chest pressed to chest. She drug him into a kiss, hands gripping the back of his hair. Even as their mouth made wild love, his hips pumped rapidly against hers. She canted hers up, hooking her ankles around the back of his knees, taking him in. Lost in the sensation, Sofia clung to his back, nails scratching against his skin. The thunder broke, sounding right overhead.

He tore his mouth away from hers, burying his face against her neck, breathing hard. Sofia clung to him, holding on for dear life. When lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the room for one burning moment in a wash of white light, all she could see was an intricate tattoo of circles and symbols wrapping over his shoulder and short black hair at the back of his neck.

She kissed that shoulder, rubbing her swollen lips up his neck. Taking the edge of his earlobe between her lips, she sucked , her tongue flickering to the sensitive space behind his ear.

"Ah! A ghrá!" ( _Ah! My love!_ ) He came then, hips jerking hard against her. And the pulsing feeling of him emptying inside her pushed her over the edge as well. Lightening sliced the sky, but she could see no more than before, except her own grasping hands kneading his skin and more black symbols decorating his back.

He collapsed heavily against her, but she enjoyed the feeling of his weight atop her. This time she was the one to kiss him lovingly, caressing her hands along his back as he regained his breath. She felt an unmistakable fondness for him in that moment, this man that was so generous with her, not domineering, taking his own pleasure via her body, but sharing pleasure with her, as equals. The way he handled her, the way he spoke to her, though she couldn't understand his language, it was obvious he adored her. That this was to be her future no longer seemed frightening.

He turned his head, seeking out her lips. They kissed softly at first before his tongue licked out to mate lazily with her own. The storm was moving on, the thunder distant again. Sofia couldn't see him in the dark, but she ran her hands through his hair, longer in the front than in the back she realized.

Pulling back from the kiss, she whispered in a voice wavering and breathless, "I think ... I think I love you."

"Is breá liom tú."

"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I don't understand you."

She could feel his smile against her lips. His voice murmured against her mouth as he moved to kiss her again. "I said, I love you, too."

* * *

The quickness with which Sofia became accustomed to shoot up out of bed, gasping, was something to admire. Instead of allowing herself to be rattled, she concentrated hard, trying to hold on to the memory of his voice. He'd spoken in her language. She could understand him and she grasped eagerly to the exact tone and tenor of his voice. But the more she tried to hold it clear in her mind, the more it seemed to slip from her fingers. She huffed in frustration, covering her face with her hands. Outside, rain glazed the panes of her window and in the distance she heard the far rumble of thunder moving on.

* * *

Author's Note: When Drunk Sofia says "Hold me for these, won't you?" that was actually a typo on my part , and I decided to keep it. And the scene in the hallway probably wasn't even necessary, but I have been wanting to find a way to make these two dance together for forever.

So, I originally wrote this lemon for chapter 2, can you believe it? But I thought it was way too soon for I love you's, hence slowing way down.

Love the reviews :D Keep 'em coming, please.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: So the thing I was really hoping wouldn't happen happened. I caught a cold. So I'm writing this chapter while feeling all fuzzy headed and vague. Hopefully it makes sense. :)

In this chapter Sofia and Miranda talk a bit about Sofia's birth father. I didn't invent a name for him, so when Sofia says her father, she means her birth father. Dad is King Roland.

Side Note: I messed up Lucinda's mother's name. I thought it was Maria. It's Marla.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter 7

* * *

I want you

 _I want you when the shades of eve are falling_

 _And purpuling shadows drift across the land;_

 _When sleepy birds to loving mates are calling -_

 _I want the soothing softness of your hand._

 _I want you when the stars shine up above me,_

 _And Heaven's flooded with the bright moonlight;_

 _I want you with your arms and lips to love me_

 _Throughout the wonder watches of the night._

 _I want you when in dreams I still remember_

 _The ling'ring of your kiss- for old times' sake-_

 _With all your gentle ways, so sweetly tender,_

 _I want you in the morning when I wake._

-By Author L. Gillom

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Hearing Amber's voice, Sofia skidded to a stop in the entryway. "To the village," she offered carefully, "I wanted to go talk to Lucinda."

Amber frowned in disapproval, making Sofia wonder what possible transgression she's committed. The blond princess was dressed in an uncharacteristically plain gown, somber and unadorned. "You can't leave, Sofia. Not to today. You do remember what day it is, don't you?"

The brunette frowned, thinking. If yesterday was All Hallow's Day, that made today ... Her eyes pressed closed briefly. "Of course. I'm so sorry. How could I forget."

"Come to breakfast," Amber held out her hand, taking Sofia's in her own. Though close, the two didn't usual share such gestures of comfort, but today was an exception.

Perhaps Sofia had forgotten that today was All Soul's Day because she didn't want to think on it. Today, on the same day every year, the inhabitants of Enchancia took the day to remember their loved ones that had passed on. Sofia and her mother would visit her father's grave, while the king and the twins visited their mother's.

Breakfast proved a somber affair, not only did the day lay heavily upon their minds, but Sofia at least was nursing a headache from her ill-fated run in with too much champagne. She ate sparingly, her stomach upset. When the servants cleared the dishes away, Miranda rose.

"Are you ready, Sofia?"

"Yes, Mom."

They walked to the entryway together where Sofia accepted her cloak from Baileywick. The steward also handed her a bouquet of flowers, which she accepted with a grateful smile. Baileywick was always prepared, even if she wasn't.

"The coach is waiting out front, Your majesty," he told the queen and she nodded her thanks.

Roland came forward, hugged Miranda tightly, before giving her a kiss. Sofia watched them, newly entranced by the seemingly effortless love and support that flowed between them. Her mother never begrudged the king his remembrance of his first wife, nor did he of Sofia's birth father. And yet, despite their remembered love and pain, they seemed wholly devoted to each other. When she as younger Sofia used to wonder how her mother could move on from such loss, how was it possible to make room in your heart for new love. Her mother had told her that our hearts have no limit, no capacity which could be filled. Loving Roland did not mean she loved her first husband less. Still Sofia couldn't shake an uneasy feeling, thinking about having more than one love in her life.

Just last night, she'd whispered into the darkness, declaring her love for a man she didn't even know. This man was an enigma to her. Fierce and tender, strong and vulnerable, passionate and adoring. The ease with which she was falling utterly in love with him frightened her a little. Last night she'd felt relief to know that she'd harbor such strong adoration for her destined husband, but by the light of day it was all too easy for the anxiety to return, reminding her that she didn't know anything about him, except for a few moments of stolen passion.

It gave her comfort to remember that he did speak her language, that he was not completely foreign to her. Although the memory of the bits of his body she had seen left her breathless with uncertainty. The intricate tattoos that adorned his skin made her warm with curiosity and desire. She found them remarkably appealing, partially because she knew she shouldn't. The only men she'd seen with tattoos were the workers at the docks, usually bearing blurry rendering of scantily clad woman. His tattoos had been clean and intricate, enhancing his skin with their delicate allure. But she couldn't imagine any of the proper, buttoned-up men in her life sporting such markings. She also recalled that his hair was black, short at the back of his neck, but longer in the front. But it was the memory of his voice that nagged at her most. Something in about the timber of his voice as he murmured against her lips:

 _I said, I love you, too._

As hard as she tried to hold on to it, the exact memory still eluded her. Still there was something nagging at the back of her mind, like an off note in a piece of music, just catching her attention, but unable to identify it. She felt that if she just concentrated hard enough she could place it, but she had no time as her mother fastened her own cloak and she followed her out the doors.

* * *

On the carriage ride to the cemetery, Sofia was quiet, staring out the window, watching the leaves fall. The end of Samhain always makes her a little sad. Though she enjoyed the coming snow, it's pristine beauty glittering in the sunlight, she also hated watching everything green die away. Nothing could stop the changing of the seasons, nor the steadfast march of time.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Sweetie?"

"Do you ...," she paused, unsure what exactly was she wanted to ask. "If my father had lived, what do you think would have happened when Dad came into your shop?"

She mother's face loosened in surprise, before her brow furrowed in thought. "I'm not sure I can answer that."

"I mean," Sofia pressed, the answer important to her, "Do you think you would still have fallen in love with Dad? When you were in love with someone else already?"

Miranda blew out a breath. "That's quite a question."

"I'm sorry."

"No," her mother soothed, assuring her it was okay, "It's just hard to imagine. So many things would be different had your father lived. But that doesn't seem to be what you're asking."

Sofia twisted her fingers together nervously. She thought hard before speaking. "It's just that every year, you and Dad visit the graves of your first spouses, remember them, the love you had for them, and you never seemed bothered by it. I can tell you really loved my father."

"I did."

"But you love Dad, too. I was just wondering what would have happened if you had met them both at the same time. Who would you have loved more?"

"I don't think," Miranda answered carefully, taking time to consider instead of brushing the intrusive question away, "that it is a question of loving one more or the other less. I loved your father. I still love him in the part of my heart where he'll always live. And, I love your Dad. And I know he'll always harbor the same love for his first wife. I don't begrudge him that, because I carry the same pain. If your father had lived, perhaps I would have had feeling for Roland the day he came into our shop. But if you're asking would I have chosen him over your father, the answer is no. I loved him first, but more than that, we were married, a family, nothing could compare to that."

"But," the princess squinted, trying to formulate exactly what she wanted to know. "What if you weren't married yet. Didn't have me. What if you met my father and Dad at the same time, which one would you choose?"

"That," Miranda scoffed, her eyes searching for an answer, "Is an impossible question to answer. What is this really about, Sofia?"

The young woman stayed quiet a long time, trying to formulate an appropriate response.

"Honey," Miranda reached across, touching her daughter's hand. "If you're worried about things being expected of you, about being pressured to marry the right sort of man, we've talked about this."

"I know," Sofia returned the gentle pressure of her mother's hand. "And I'm grateful that you and Dad are agreed that I can choose who I want. It's just ... I feel ... conflicted, all of a sudden."

"Conflicted?" Her mother's brow rose in interest. "Are you saying you feel you have to choose between more than one love? I had thought -"

Her mother stopped talking abruptly, and Sofia looked at her. "You thought what?"

"Well, your father and I, we discussed marriage with you, not because we're trying to force the issue, rather it seemed important to impress upon you that your choice is your choice. If the man you love is acceptable to you, then he is acceptable to us." Her mother paused, before adding carefully. "It seemed rather apparent to us- to me that the choice may have already been made."

Sofia blinked at her, feeling rather slow at the moment. "If you mean Hugo or Desmond, I keep telling everyone, they're just my friends."

"No, Sweetie. I didn't mean either of them."

A flush crept up Sofia's face as she remembered dancing, not in a ballroom, but in an empty hall. "Oh."

There wasn't much else she could think to say, that one small word encompassing a world of meaning. Her mother and father had told her she could choose, but she hadn't suspected the discussion was predicated on an assumption that she already had.

"And Dad would really be okay with that?" Her flush deepened. "With ... him?"

"Honestly," Miranda laughed quietly, "he's working on it. But yes, he would eventually be okay with it. If that's what you want. Is it what you want?"

How could she explain to her mother that this wasn't the usual nerves about courtship. There were supernatural forces at work, pointing toward a future that was both thrilling and daunting. Was she trying to hold onto the present because it was a comfortable respite from her future? Or was there something there worth holding on to?

Sofia sat back, sighing. Out the window she watched the dying leaves fall, and whispered, "I don't know."

* * *

The rest of the carriage ride went by in silence. When they arrived at the gates of the village graveyard, Sofia tried her best to set the worrying thoughts aside and focus on the purpose at hand. Her father's marker was easy to find, the path well worn in her memory. She stood with her mother, looking down at the grave of a man she hardly knew, but loved all the same. She had only vague, blurry memories of her father, images and impressions of a man filled with warmth and love. She didn't like to think on them often because touching upon them felt like pressing on a wound that wouldn't heal.

Miranda knelt down, carefully brushing fallen leaves from the inscription which read: Beloved Husband and Father. When the grave was cleared, Sofia carefully arranged the bouquet of lavender roses tied with a white ribbon.

The two women stood in silence, gazing down and Sofia could only wonder how her mother felt, standing at the grave of her first love.

"How is it possible to love someone so much, though I feel as if I hardly knew him?"

"Your father was a wonderful man," Miranda said softly, " and he adored you. You might not feel as if you had the chance to know him, the person he was, but it was obvious that he loved you with every word and gesture."

She paused, before adding, "Love is like that sometimes. It's as if we can recognize something inside the other person. Something not everyone else sees."

"Like how you fell in love with Dad on first sight? You didn't know anything about him, except that he was the king."

"Yes," Miranda sighed, "There was a certain kind of love at first sight, but as I got to know him that love only deepened and grew. It only became stronger. I regret that you never got to experience that kind of love for your father. If you could have known him, you only would have loved him more for the person he was."

"I still miss him sometimes." Sofia confessed.

Her mother wrapped her in her arms, hugging her tightly. "Oh, Sweetheart, me too."

They stood that way for a long time before Miranda finally pulled away, stroking Sofia's arms. "I need to head back. I want to see how your Dad is doing, and Amber and James. Are you coming?"

"I think I'll walk back, if that's alright."

Miranda smiled at her sadly, seeming to understand that there was a lot on her mind. She kissed her daughter's temple before heading back to the coach that would take her back to the castle.

Sofia sank to her knees next to the grave. She couldn't help but wonder what her father would think of their new life. Would he be happy for his family? Would he begrudge his wife her new love? As her mother said, it was an impossible question to answer.

More leaves fell down around her, and though she knew it was a hopeless task, she plucked them off the gravestone while she was there. More would fall soon enough. Villagers moved quietly about her, wrapped in their own grief and remembrance. The sound of someone's shoes approaching through the crackling dry leaves didn't even register until he was standing right beside her.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up to find Cedric standing over her. He looked different than usual. Less formal and she realized he wasn't wearing his official robes, rather he was dressed as any regular man in a green shirt with a maroon colored vest. He still had his yellow tie, and he wore a pair of loose black slacks. He looked so ... ordinary. He wasn't Cedric the Sensational, Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia, rather he was simply Cedric, an ordinary man. She found the change disconcerting, if only because it made it so much easier to imagine that he possessed the body of a man underneath his buttoned up attire. She realized rather suddenly that she'd never seen any more of him than the tips of his finger and his face.

She rose up off the ground, realizing she'd been quiet too long. "I'm ... not great, but I'll be okay."

He stood next to her, reading the gravestone at her feet. "Is this-"

"My father? Yeah."

"I'm sorry," he said at length, unsure what else he could say to ease such pain as losing a parent.

She opened her mouth automatically, to tell him it was alright, but then she shut it again. She missed her father, and her life wouldn't have compared had he lived, but she also couldn't regret her life as it was. If she'd never become a princess she never would have met Cedric. "Thank you," she said instead. Then, "What are you doing here?"

He jerked his head in the direction of a far collection of mausoleums. "I'm here with Mother, Father, Cordelia and Calista. One of the few times a year my family gets together is to visit our dead relatives." He laughed shortly. "What does that say about my family?"

Sofia smiled softly, knowing he had mixed feelings towards several member of that family. "It says that you know how to come together when it really counts."

He seemed to think on her words. His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "I suppose we do. Anyway, I saw you and thought you might like some company."

She took a tremulous breath and realized with some dismay that she felt tears prickling the back of her eyes. She tried to blink then away, but they only gathered faster. Something about Cedric, caring enough to come be with her, knowing that even though she was alone, she needed someone by her side, made something inside her ache. "I'm sorry," she blubbered, wiping at her tears as they fell.

He reached out, touching her arm, seeming uncertain if he should do more. "Don't be." He seemed to flounder for a moment, unsure what to do. "Do you want one of those wretched hugs you're always after?"

She knew in his own way he was trying to make her laugh, but at the moment she couldn't appreciate his dark humor. Cedric was always so damn aloof, so much so that she wondered if he possessed any deeper feelings at all. His constantly detached manner rankled something inside her.

"Never mind," she sniffled, baring her teeth against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her eyes. She didn't know why she was so outrageously offended all of a sudden, but his response was not the one she wanted, and it _hurt_. "I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing you."

When she turned to storm away, he grabbed her by the arm, his grip firm but gentle. Stubbornly she tried to jerk away, but he held her fast, drawing her round and against his chest. She struggled weakly, tears streaking fast down her face. One of his hands held her back, while the other cupped the base of her skull, holding her steady. She could break away if she really wished, but she'd lost the will to. Instead she quieted, soothed by the steady thrum of his heartbeat. She wrapped her arms around him, clutching at the back of his vest, shoulders shaking as sob after sob rocked through her. The pain of remembrances of her father combined with the confusion and stress of the past few days. It all come rushing out, soaking his collar with her tears.

"Shhh," he soothed, carefully combing his fingers through her curls, stroking her hair.

Sofia sank against him, burying her face against the folds of his tie. She inhaled the deeply calming scent of him, sandalwood with a hint of smoke, wishing she could wrap that scent around her. This was how she'd stood in the woods in her dream, comforted by her lover. She wanted him here now, she realized. She wanted the intimacy of his arms, to hear him murmur affectionately against her hair. To call her, "A ghrá," whatever it meant.

But standing here in the bright light of day before her father's grave, she wanted Cedric's comfort too. She wanted the familiarity of his presence, the comfort of his scent, the security born from years of friendship and trust. She wanted to tell him thank you for holding her like this. For knowing that she needed his comfort before she did. Cedric might not always say the right things, but at time she knew her better than she knew herself. She wanted to wrap her arms around the back of his neck, squeezing tightly to press their whole bodies together. She wanted to kiss him, to peck his cheek in gratitude.

Her sobbing eased, taking deep droughts of air, breathing him in with each one.

She wanted to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, and then his lips. Her breath caught on a strangled gasp as her body began to ignite, a surprising warmth kindling to life between her thighs as she envisioned dragging Cedric's mouth down to hers the way she'd done to her husband in the woods.

She wanted her lover.

And she wanted Cedric.

By the Great Goddess, she didn't know what she wanted anymore. She felt like she was being torn in two directions.

Cedric stroked her back, his long nose nestled against her hair. He was the perfect height for her to stand with her face comfortably resting against the warmth of his throat.

"It's alright," he murmured, lips moving against her hair. "I'm here."

Sofia's fingers curled deeper into the fabric of his clothing. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Just last night she'd murmured, "I love you" to a stranger, a shadowy phantom of her unseen future. Her heart gave a sudden lurch. She'd been relieved to know that she'd feel such love for her future husband, but she realized love could also be a curse. At night she was falling in love with a stranger who knew how to please her body, how to whisper words of comfort and adoration, but by day she was also falling in love with the man who knew her heart. Who let her tease him, who wore a ridiculous orange bow because she bought it for him, who carried her shoes when she was too drunk to walk in them and waltzed with her in an empty hallway without any music because she'd asked him to. Who never said the things she wanted. Who had never whispered words of love, but she loved him all the same.

New tears sprung to her eyes at the unfairness of it all.

When she moved, his grip on her eased, but he didn't let her go. She tipped her head back, cradled by his hand. She looked up at him, eyes still glazed with tears. Cedric gazed down at her, eyes dark with earnest concern and a hint of confusion as she stared intently back up at him. Her eyes flickered down to his mouth.

She began to move towards him. And he was there, moving to meet her. But before their lips could touch -

"Sofia!"

Calista shouted, waving enthusiastically at her from across the yard. Cedric and Sofia pulled hastily away from each other, a guilty flush painting her cheeks. The younger girl ran over to them, throwing her arms around the princess in an ecstatic hug.

"Calista, dear," Winifred approached on her husband's arm. "Please. Try not to forget, not everyone practices ancestral veneration as we do. For many this is a solemn occasion. Please keep your voice down."

The fifteen-year old girl blushed from the edge of her hair to her neck. Sofia smiled softly at her, letting her know she wasn't offended. Cordelia came sauntering up behind the rest of the family, her nose haughtily in the air.

"Princess Sofia," she greeted the younger woman gracefully, before turning her attention to her brother. "We were wondering where you ran off to Cedric, but now I see, you must have heard your master calling."

"Cordelia," Cedric growled, his voice low with warning.

Sofia wondered what the two siblings were at odds about, but she became distracted when his low grumbling voice sent a surprising shiver down her spine. "It's nice to see you Cordelia," Sofia tied to ease the tension she didn't understand. She turned to Cedric's parents. "Miss Winifred, Mister Goodwin."

Winifred, let go of her husband's arm to wrap Sofia in a tight hug. For such a diminutive woman, she was quite strong. "Sofia, my dear. So good to see you, even under such sad circumstances."

Goodwin produced a handkerchief from his wand, handing it to her, and Sofia realized she must look a mess. She thanked him, wiping her teary eyes. She looked over at Cedric, seeing she had left a blotchy wet mark on his shoulder. "Oh, Cedric," she swiped ineffectually at the stain. "I'm sorry. I made an awful mess of your shirt."

He stopped her hands, gently taking the cloth from her. "It's fine. It will dry."

Sofia offered him a timid, bleary smile, one he answered with a small smile of his own. Cordelia scoffed shortly, leaning close to whisper nastily to her brother, though Sofia still heard her say, "Heel, boy."

Cedric glared at his sister.

"Cordelia," Winifred snapped, "Leave Ceddykins alone."

"Now, Winifred," Goodwin began, coming to Cordelia's defense.

Sofia watched the family bicker in a way that was familiar to her by now. Winifred defended her son, while Goodwin always took the side of their daughter. In between Cedric and Cordelia sniped at one another, lobbing the occasional barb.

Calista and Sofia's eyes met and the younger girl rolled hers, indicating how tiresome she found her family at times. Sofia covered her mouth, giggling. Calista was so much like her uncle at times. The girl worshiped him, though she no longer insisted on dressing exactly like him, and she'd long since changed her hair back to its original all black color. Sofia always thought it was sweet the way Calista had tried to emulate her uncle, even copying his mismatched hair when she was young. She looked over at Cedric. He used to be self-conscious about it, the change in color the result of a misplaced school prank by Greylock, but she'd always liked his hair. Not just the color, she liked how he wore the grey bangs slightly longer than the short black hair at the back.

The world tilted for a moment, the sensation of déjà vu settling upon her, like it had the night at the ball. She blinked, shaking her head a little to clear it, before squinting up at him. A dawning realization began to form in her mind. The family continued to chatter around her, arguing gently as she stared at Cedric.

He was the perfect height for her to nestle her face against the warmth of his neck. His hair was longer in the front, and short and black at his neck. And, even though she'd never heard it, he could speak another language. Sweeping her gaze up his body from head to toe and back again, she had no way to tell if he had any tattoos or not, though she'd never envisioned him that sort of man. Many questions still hung unanswered, the pieces of the puzzle still shifting into place, but a picture was beginning to form. Her heart began hammering in her chest.

"Sofia, dear?"

She snapped out of her reverie, finding Winifred looking at her. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I was asking if you'd like to join our family for lunch. We're all going back to our house in Mystic Meadows."

"Oh," Sofia thought on it. She'd often spent time with the family, _his_ family, on many similar occasions. She was practically an honorary member. She cut her eyes shyly over in Cedric's direction, answering slowly, "Sure. Why not?"

She watched as a pleased smile tipped up the corners of his mouth, making something new and fragile flutter to life in her chest.

* * *

Author's Note: I didn't really know where I was going with the whole thing about Sofia's father, but I just thought about how children love their parents because of the care the parent provides. Children don't really know who their parents are as people. It just seemed a fitting comparison for Sofia's love for her "husband" based on knowing nothing about who he is as a person, only how he treats her.

Sofia's finally getting a clue, yay!

I don't much about Cordelia. I've never seen the entire episode she's in, just part of it. I know she's more negligent than antagonistic towards Cedric, but I couldn't help a little sibling rivalry between them.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, Guys. Life has been not-awesome for the past week. And then writer's block hit like a ton of bricks. Seriously, my house has never been cleaner. I have no laundry, no dishes in the sink, all in an attempt to get my brain going again. So glad you are all enjoying the story. :)

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Eight

* * *

 _"It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end."_

-Leonardo da Vinci

* * *

Despite the turmoil roiling inside, twisting her thoughts in on themselves and bumping up against dead ends, Sofia couldn't help feeling a familiar fondness for Cedric's family. There was a certain comfort in their dynamic, flawed as it was. She always knew what to expect, but more than that, they never put on any show of manners or airs around her. They accepted her as part of their clan, letting all their messy laundry hang free in her presence. For example, she knew that Cedric and Cordelia would bicker like a pair of school-aged children, trying to one up each other as they vied for their parents' approval; Goodwin would always favor his daughter, and Winifred would cleave devotedly to her "Ceddykins". But despite their minor squabbles, Sofia could tell the family was held together by a strong undercurrent of love and loyalty.

On the way to Mystic Meadows, her time was largely monopolized by Calista as the girl chattered a happy stream, telling the princess about everything from her studies at Hexly Hall to her new wand. Though only a few years difference between them, the girl treated the princess with the same worshipful adoration as her uncle. Sofia could do no wrong in Calista's eyes and any attention or praise the young woman paid her thrilled the girl.

It was hard to keep up with her chatter though, when Sofia's head was filled with thoughts, feeling, suppositions and half-conceived ideas. She nodded at the correct intervals, offering vague answers while internally she reeled from recently uncovered feelings and suspicions. As she walked by Calista's side, she couldn't stop staring at the back of Cedric's neck, envisioning the way she'd raked her fingers through her lover's hair as he moved atop her as she cried out wordless encouragements. Except in her mind's eye, he was no longer nameless and faceless. She adored Cedric, always had, but her child-like adoration was morphing into something more, something deeper and altogether more powerful. The ease with which her feelings transformed suggested that she'd felt this way for some time, only now allowing herself to see it.

By the Goddess, was she the only one who hadn't known she was in love with him?

But soft, romantic love was a far cry from carnal lust, and she was being overwhelmed by both at once. Even as she longed to pull up beside him, entwining their fingers to walk hand in hand, she also couldn't stop the vivid image of Cedric kneeling between her legs, pulling her hips off the bed as he sank slowly into her, wracking her body with shuttering sobs of ecstasy. Every construct of their entwined bodies over the past three nights replayed in her mind, each detail overlaid with excruciating clarity as her phantom lover was replaced with a very real man. Though she'd never seen Cedric anything but properly dressed, and she'd never seen her lover clearly, she could easily suppose the contours of his body from her other senses.

She wasn't quite convinced that her night-time love was Cedric. She had no proof, only a suspicion fed by Lucinda's suggestion. Perhaps the talk she'd had with her mother had turned her head, giving weight to half-formed feelings and ideas. Or perhaps it was the lingering hangover from too much champagne combined with the memory of their stolen waltz. Or perhaps it was the way he'd insisted on holding her in the cemetery. Or perhaps it was a thousand other little notions, all combining into an avalanche of feelings.

By the time they made it to Winifred and Goodwin's home, her hands itched to dig inside his shirt, to render tie and buttons aside and run her hands over the contours of his shoulders, searching for proof of what she suspected - _hoped_ \- to be true. She could just ask him, but it seemed impolite to start inquiring about the details of his body in front of his entire family. Definitely a conversation most improper.

Nervous, she jumped at the opportunity to help Winifred in the kitchen. When the Sorceress demurred, claiming that as a guest Sofia shouldn't feel obligated, the princess insisted. While they prepared a veritable feast, mostly via magic, Winifred regaled her with stories from her and Godwin's last vacation to the Enchanted Cliffs of Westmoria. Sofia listened with as much attention as she could muster, intermittently reprimanding herself for thinking impure thoughts about the woman's son. By the time they sat down at the table, Sofia felt fairly wrung out.

* * *

Throughout the morning, Cedric glanced over occasionally to find Sofia staring at him intently. Each time he caught her eye she flushed, looking guiltily away. Which made him feel rather flustered as well. Back in the cemetery she gave every indication that she was about to kiss him. She had been about to kiss him, right? Now he felt uncertain. He felt the uncustomary weight of guilt fall upon his shoulders. The poor girl had just been crying over the grave of her dead father and probably half out of her wits. She probably hadn't know what she was doing. He should be grateful for Calista's timely intervention.

One thing was certain, things were changing between them. He wasn't sure if he should be encouraging such changes or resisting them. When he spied her at the cemetery, kneeling alone at a grave, the sight clenched his heart, drawing him over to her. For once, there was no self-conscious questions about whether he should intrude on her solitude, only the sense that he _had_ to. Like she _needed_ him. She looked so forlorn that it was easy to image his half-crazed thoughts were indeed true.

Crazed was an appropriate description for who he increasingly felt. And if he was spiraling down into madness, he shouldn't drag her with him. The dreams had yet to cease. On the contrary, they were only getting stronger; more insistent, prodding his brain with determination. He couldn't help but feel that he was missing something. Something important. He'd jolted awake again early this morning, sated and panting and completely baffled. Each nightly vision was clearer than the last, becoming more intense each night. This time they'd been in his bed, a storm raging outside. She'd spoken to him, pleading in a breathy whisper:

" _Please_."

 _Her plea called to him. To hear her begging so prettily, wanting him to take her faster, harder. He'd have to teach her a more lurid vocabulary, but for the time her polite request twisted around his heart and his loins, prompting him to thrust his hips forward, hard, filling her completely. As she cried out, lightening crackled, painting her lust twisted features in blinding white light. Her neck was thrown back, eyes pressed tightly closed and her wild curls sprawling across his pillows. Her pink tipped breasts pushed up high from the angle of her body, and he saw all of her for one blinding moment._

By the harsh light of day, the memory was rendered blurry and intangible. Try as he might he could not see her clearly, though a nagging sensation of familiarity - of recognition- tormented him, as if the answer lay just beyond his reach.

 _Her pants and little cries spurred him on, holding his own release at bay if only to hear her sweet symphony of pleasure. Her warm little hand splayed over his heart, as it should since the organbeneath his chest belonged to her already. He couldn't deny her plea._

 _"Come here."_

 _And he went, ready and willing to oblige any demand she might impart upon him. He'd do anything for her. But all she required was his body, his kisses, and he fulfilled her every demand; making wild love to her as she squirmed beneath him. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, tilting her hips up to take him deeper, he nearly lost the battle with his threadbare restraint. Burying his face against her neck, he tried not to lose himself in the sensation of her grasping hands, gasping lips, and all other indications of her rising ecstasy. But when she nudged her lips up his throat, sucking the edge of his sensitive ear, he couldn't contain his release any longer. White hot pleasure seared down his spine, coiling tight at the base of his cock. When she tongued the sensitive spot just behind his ear, he came, the intensity shocking him into crying out, "Ah! My love!"_

 _She came with him, body arching in his arms while thunder and lightning split the sky outside. Her nails bit into his back, but he'd never been opposed to a little pain as it bespoke of the intensity of her pleasure._

 _Even after the ecstasy of their combined orgasms faded, she continued to hold him, caressing his back lovingly while she littered sweet little kisses over his shoulder. He shuttered at the delicate attention, turning to capture her lips in a gesture of mingled gratitude and adoration. This fey creature never ceased to take his breath away; but then, being a figment of his imagination, she would be perfect for him. The embodiment of everything he craved._

 _When she pulled back, he couldn't see her in the dark, making him that much more aware of the feel of her naked body, pliant and sated beneath him. She ran her hand through his hair, a sensation that made his eyes roll back in corporeal pleasure._

 _"I think ...," she breathed, hesitant, "I think I love you."_

 _Her hesitant confession shattered the thin veneer of his composure; opening a chasm inside him where the needy, raw knot of nerves he called feelings resided. How could she know how deeply her tender confession both elated and wounded him?_

 _By the Goddess he wanted to love her._ Did _love her. "_ _Is breá liom tú_ _," he whispered words he'd never spoken to another soul, not romantically._

 _But curiously, she didn't understand him. Instead of examining the strange twist of logic, he smiled against her lips, finding her mild confusion adorable instead of daunting. He gladly clarified for her, "I said, I love you, too."_

No wonder he felt like he was losing his mind. It wasn't just the carnal bliss he found in her embrace that drew him to her, but every little notion of her adoration and devotion. This wasn't some doxy looking for a quick tumble with a famous sorcerer, all too-moist wet lips and exaggerated moans. (Merlin's Mushrooms, but he'd made some truly regrettable decisions in his past.) This woman was delicious in form, but also sincerity. She cleaved to him like a wanton, shamelessly encouraging him with her sounds and her body, as if she lacked any self-consciousness. She was wholly herself and he found that refreshingly arousing. She wasn't pretending, more enticed by a title or a name than the man he was. She wanted _him_. He _knew_ it somehow, could sense it. But then that only made sense as she was all in his own head.

But as his eyes drifted across the expanse of his parent's home, locking onto the petite and familiar form of his oldest friend, a truly strange and mildly alarming notion blossomed in his mind. He was beginning to wonder if this dream woman was a figment of his imagination at all, or a proxy for a very real woman. One he shouldn't want and couldn't have. Sofia was out of his reach in so many ways, age and station being only a few of them.

Even so, he couldn't help the contented smile, more smirk really, watching her float about his mother's kitchen, familiar and comfortable enough to know where everything was. She'd nestled her way into so many parts of his life, not least of all his heart.

* * *

Sofia picked at her meal, stomach in knots for reasons other than a night of imbibing in too much champagne.

"So, Princess Sofia," Cordelia purred, fluffing her outrageous hair with one hand. "How is everything at the castle?"

Sofia paused, chewing carefully before swallowing. For some reason the haughty woman's casual tone had her on edge. "Fine," she ventured.

"And your family?"

"They're well."

"Good." Cordelia smiled, looking her over before sighing in false charm. "My, the time does fly. I remember when I first met you, just a girl. And now look at you, all grown up. Wouldn't you agree, Cedric?"

Cedric didn't respond except to level his sister with a warning glare. She smiled serenely back.

"Why, I bet, my dear, you'll be fending off proposals any day," the conjurer added.

"Not really," Sofia moved her food around with her fork, losing her appetite. "I don't have any suitors, nor am I courting anyone at the moment." _Or ever_ , she added silently. By night, she was engaging in the most carnal actions, but in reality she'd never done more than share a few chaste kisses. Which had mostly been engaged in out of mutual curiosity rather than emotion.

"A pretty young princess like you. Whatever is the matter? You should be swamped with prospects. Think of all the young, eligible princes at your disposal."

Sofia laughed uneasy. "You sound like my sister. But I'm afraid it takes more than a crown to entice me. When I marry," her voice hardened, feeling as if she was defending far more than her decisions on courtship, "It will be for love. I want a lasting, devoted partnership, not a title and rank."

Calista sighed wistfully. "That sounds lovely."

Cordelia scoffed. "Yes, well, as a princess I suppose you are afforded such fantasies. Some of us have to be entirely more practical."

"Speaking of," Cedric cut in, his voice as cold as frosted glass. "How is your third husband? Harold, is it? Or Harvey? I can barely keep up."

"Horatio," Cordelia answered with an edge to her tone, "Is well."

"Why didn't he accompany you today, Cordy?" Winifred asked, sounding slightly wistful. "We barely see you, let alone our new son-in-law."

"Winifred," Goodwin chided lightly, coming as always to his daughter's defense. "I'm sure Cordelia's husband is much too busy with his business. Thriving, as I understand it."

"Yes, Papa."

Cedric couldn't help rolling his eyes. There were several other, less kind things Cedric could think to say, but he bit his tongue in front of his niece. It wasn't her fault her mother was a shameless gold-digger.

"I know that," Winifred puffed up her amble chest. "I had hoped, Cordeila, that what with your second marriage, and now your third, that we would have more grandchildren by now. I cherish Calista, but I miss the sound of little feet running around."

Cordelia crossed her arms, pouting. "Well you can look elsewhere. One pregnancy was enough. Very nearly ruined my figure."

"Understandable, Dear," Goodwin patted his daughter's shoulder before turning stern eyes on his son. "What about you Cedric? I had hoped to see an heir to our family line before now."

Sofia cringed in sympathy to see Cedric's face flush from a combination of embarrassment and anger. As always, someone else cut in before he could utter more than a few indignant sounds.

"Ceddykins is just waiting for the right girl," his mother cooed. "It can't be easy being royal sorcerer and all. But, I must say I agree with your father."

"What!" Cedric sputtered in shock.

Winifred wrung her hands, clearly at war with admonishing her "Ceddykins". "I do so want more grandchildren. But, more than that, your father is right, Cedric. You'll need an heir to pass on the title of royal sorcerer. And your father and I aren't getting any younger."

Now that he'd stirred the pot, Goodwin sat back, moving into an ingratiating mood. "Now, now, Winifred, a ghrá, please. We're not that old."

The whole table turned towards her when Sofia's fork dropped out of her nerveless fingers and clattered to her plate with a racket. "I-I'm sorry," she stumbled over her words, urgency creeping into her voice. "What you just said, what you called Miss Winifred, a ghrá, what language is that?"

Goodwin's cheeks darkened and Winifred threw him a reproving glance before she answered. "You'll have to forgive Goodwin, he seems to have forgotten himself."

Sofia blinked, looking around the table. "It isn't any known language, is it?" And she _knew_. "It's part of your family codex, isn't it?"

Winifred's brows rose with interest. "You know about that."

"My friend Lucinda," Sofia babbled, trying to cover the blush creeping up her cheeks. "is a witch. The other day she showed me her family grimorie, told me all about the various codes of different magic handling families. A ghrá is a coded term, right. Can I ask, what does it mean?"

Goodwin and Winifred shared a guarded look. Even Cordeila and Cedric were quiet for once. After a beat of silence, Calista sighed in the exaggerated way of teenagers. "Really? It's only Sofia." She leaned forward, looking at the princess. "It's a family endearment. It means my love."

"Calista," Cordelia snapped, making the girl shrink with reproach. "How many times have I told you, that is secret."

"My love," Sofia repeated thinly, no longer worried about her blushing cheeks because the blood had drained from her face. "That's so ... sweet."

And she meant it. Of all the things her lover, her husband had whispered to her in the dark, one phrase was repeated in a dozen different ways, soft and reverent, throaty and ardent, even cried ecstatically as he let go, shivering in her arms: A ghrá. _My love_.

Sofia's chest clenched and she felt like she couldn't breathe. "And this codex," she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "Only your family know it, right?"

Winifred sighed, seeing no reason to act so secretive in front of her. "Yes. Only Goodwin, myself, Cordelia, Calista and Cedric speak it."

Sofia nodded, trying to appear academically interested while inside her thoughts and feelings were in a riot. Externally she said, "Fascinating."

From the corner of her eyes she could see Cedric looking at her, eying her with interest. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't force a strained smile to her face, couldn't pretend. She felt that if she looked into his eyes, all her layers would be stripped away, her heart laid bare. She felt too raw, too exposed yet.

By the Great Goddess, did he know? She suspected he didn't, but at the same time she wanted to know how he could not. Marla's words came back to her: _"...he's probably no more aware than thinking he's having some pretty intense erotic dreams. He's probably not aware of who you are, or that you are, in fact, a real live person."_

Marla had said she was in control. She had the power to reveal herself to him, and she clearly hadn't done that. The thought of Cedric waking confused and aroused by their shared dreams made her feel inappropriately warm. Try as she might to ignore it, the fire in her belly only grew and her breath began to come short as her heart rocketed into a gallop. It was more than arousal, bordering on panic.

"I'm sorry," she stood abruptly, trying desperately to appear normal, and not at all as crazed as she felt. "I just remembered, I promised my friend Lucinda I'd stop by her house today. If you excuse me, I ... I have to go. Thank you for lunch."

"Alright, dear," Winifred answered vaguely, watching the young woman with concern.

Cedric stood, following her out as she hurried out the door. His long legs ate up her strides easily. "Wait, Sofia."

She forced herself to stop, to turn towards him, her eyes staring resolutely at his chest rather than his face. She could almost feel his confusion and it gnawed at her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asked, his voice hitting an unfamiliar note of tender emotion. "Do you want me to walk you back to the village?"

The pressure in her chest squeezed tighter. Steeling herself, she looked up into his green flecked hazel eyes, finding them unguarded. She nearly gasped from the bewildered concern reflected back at her. "Yes," she breathed, feeling the truth of her words, "I'm fine. I can't explain it to you just yet, but ... I just need some time to myself. I need some time to think."

His fingers rubbed together absently. She knew that gesture, the way he twirled his wand between his fingers when he was nervous. Earlier in the graveyard she'd been wrong. He wasn't devoid of deeper emotion, just very guarded. Very good at hiding the vulnerable side of himself.

She stepped forward quickly. Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she perched up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. She hung there for a moment, her lips by his ear. "Thank you for earlier. At my father's grave. You were right, I needed you."

She felt him tense and shiver beneath her hands. If she stayed any longer, she feared what she might do. What a fool she might make of herself. She righted herself onto her feet again, letting him go hesitantly. "I'll see you later, at the castle?"

He blinked, seeming to realize that it was a question. "Yes, sure."

"Good." She backed away a few more steps, still mesmerized by his unguarded eyes. They'd darkened from gold to amber honey. "I'll see you later."

As she turned and all but ran, she heard his befuddled mutter. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

Author's Note: I have to share a cute StF related story. I used to work with a young woman named Amber who happens to be quite pretty with blond hair. She's a nanny now in NYC and apparently one of the little girls she just started watching in convinced that she's Amber from Sofia the First. This little girl is in complete awe, believing that Amber took the day off from being a princess just to spend it with her. And, knowing my friend Amber, who is also an actor, she totally played the part. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Seriously, how is it almost Thanksgiving? Wasn't Halloween like yesterday? It sure feels that way. Sorry for the delay. I had 90% of this chapter done for forever; there were just a few nitpicky bits that wouldn't cooperate. And this chapter got split into two because it was over 7,000 words and 17 pages long!

So, side story: I planned from the beginning to have Sofia's name have a significant inflection to go with Cedric's family language. (We'll get to her name in the next chapter.) Then I decided to give Cedric his own pronunciation just for fun. Originally I thought Cédric was pronounced Say-drick, but then I did some research and found that the é creates a long ee sound. So I had effectively made his name Seedrick. Oh fuck. But then I decided to keep it that way. My reasoning? Goodwin is the only one who calls him Cédric (Pronounced See-drick) hence why Cedric hates it, hence why he gets extra annoyed when young Sofia used to "mispronounce" his name. When really she was unwittingly calling him by his family name. Sure, that sounds plausible, right? :P

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Nine

* * *

 _Love is friendship caught fire [...]_

 _If you have love in your life,_

 _it can make up for a great many things you lack._

 _If you do not have it,_

 _no matter what else there is,_

 _it is not enough._

-Laura Hendricks

* * *

Once he went back inside the house, Cedric regretted it immediately. Goodwin stood in the doorway of the dining room, arms crossed, a stern look on his face. At the table Winifred and Cordelia whispered furiously at one another. His sister did not look please as their mother scowled back, the two obviously in disagreement.

 _Sic her, Mummy_ , he thought unkindly.

"Cedric," Goodwin intoned, his voice hitting that authoritative note that always set his son's teeth on edge. "May I have a word with you?"

Cedric rolled his eyes to the ceiling, sighing. Merlin's Mushrooms, what now? His father disappeared into the parlor, leaving him little choice but to follow.

"Close the door behind you," Goodwin instructed, waiting until they had complete privacy before snapping, "What have you done?"

"Me?" Cedric folded his arms over his chest, immediately on the defensive. "I haven't done anything."

"Then explain to me why the princess knows about our family codex?"

Taken aback, he frowned. "She told you, one of her best friends is a witch. The girl must have explained it to her. I certainly didn't, if that is what you're suggesting."

"She seemed awfully interested though, as if she recognized the endearment I called your mother. Almost, as if she'd heard it before. Care to explain?"

"There is nothing to explain. She couldn't have heard it before. That is, unless you've let it slip in her presence."

Slightly mollified, and certainly unwilling to admit that it was possible that the princess may have heard that term from him in the past, Goodwin pressed on. "Regardless, I've been meaning to address something with you. Your relationship with the girl is much too familiar to be seemly. It was acceptable when she was a child, but now that she's a grown woman, it is long past time you severed this association."

Cedric's mouth hung open, disbelieving what he was hearing.

"She is a princess," Goodwin clarified, as if that were not apparent to son. "She should be courting suitors, making alliances for Enchancia through marriage. You heard her yourself say she has no prospects. But more importantly, doesn't seem to have any interest. I can't help but fear that her reluctance has something to do with your fraternization."

"You're saying it's my fault that she doesn't wish to tramp herself out to the highest bidder with the shiniest crown. Of course! Surely no reasonable young woman could have standards so high," he scoffed sardonically.

"People talk, Cedric," his father growled. "What do you think they say about a princess who spends all her waking hours with an unmarried man? And while you may be unsuited to her in station, you are not so unsuitable in age as to make it infeasible for there to be an inappropriate relationship between you."

"And if there was?"

"There isn't," Goodwin answered flatly. His certainty wounded his son, but Cedric hid it well, used to such slights. "But the truth hardly matters in the face of rumors. When dealing with royals you must be dedicated, loyal, but also detached. Roland wouldn't hesitate to replace you if he thought you were a threat to his daughter's virtue. To her eligibility to make the kingdom a good match."

Cedric's lip twisted with disgust to heard his father speak of Sofia, a girl Goodwin had doted on, as if she were no more than a commodity for the kingdom to use in the most advantageous way. "Roland has already given his blessing for her to marry whoever she sees fit."

Goodwin's face softened with something akin to pity and Cedric was quite sure he didn't want to hear what came next. "You can't honestly be entertaining the notion that she'd pick you. I don't know what fancies she may have shown you, but she's young yet, her whims fickle."

Cedric scoffed. "Say what you will about youth, but Sofia's never been fickle in her life."

"Just promise me," Goodwin implored, "That you haven't done anything foolish already."

Cedric's sneer twisted into something bordering on a snarl, and for the first time in his life, he saw doubt cross his father's face. Goodwin tried to fill the yawning silence as his son's countenance continued to darken. "You must remember, a royal sorcerer's place is by the king's side, not-"

"Not inside his daughter," Cedric snapped back with bitter sarcasm. A line had been crossed between them, one Cedric for once was not about to abide. "Thank you for reminding me, I always do get those mixed up."

The older sorcerer colored, his cheeks turning ruddy. "There is no need to be crass."

"Oh, I think there is. Though you are couching it in vague terms, I understand perfectly to what you are referring. You want to know if I've been so _foolish_ enough to fuck the princess of the realm."

"Ní hé seo greannmhar, Cédric." ( _This is not a joke, Cedric._ )

"Muinín dom, eol dom, Athair." ( _Trust me, I'm aware, Father_.)

Goodwin heaved a deep breath, puffing up his chest. "Tá tú ceangailte freisin leis an cailín." ( _You are too attached to the girl._ )

"Níl mé!" ( _I am not!_ )

"You've always been too damn sensitive for your own good. This is not a matter of offended feelings, I'm talking about your future; only looking out for your well-being." Goodwin's anger dissolved, replaced by that soft, pitying looks that made Cedric want to bare his teeth like a cornered animal. "It's obvious you care for her."

Cedric flushed, partially from anger, but also from the memory of holding Sofia close in the graveyard, of bending down towards her upturned mouth. "Sofia is a friend, nothing more," he said, unsure if he were assuring his father or himself. "I'm quite aware of what is proper. Of my _place_ , as you see need to remind me. The very idea that there is anything more between us is preposterous."

"Is it?" Goodwin stared hard, making him fidget. "I know we haven't always agreed in the past, Cedric, but you are my child. No matter how old you get, you always will be. I do not wish to see you hurt."

Cedric took a deep breath through his nose, reminding himself that he was a grown man, not a child to be cowed by his famous father. Goodwin's concern was real, but so was Cedric's hurt that the man still held such a low opinion of him. Over the years he'd garnered the magic prowess he always wanted, hoping to finally win his father's approval, but even that wasn't enough. Goodwin always wanted his son to reach greater heights, but now he admonished him for reaching too far. The irony poured through Cedric's veins like a galling poison. Coupled with the fact that his father's assessment echoed all his self-conscious insecurities, leaving his feelings raw and exposed.

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself," he growled in a low, threatening tone he'd never used with his father before, but the man had hit upon something too personal this time. Something more than maligned talent, or academic failings. Cedric felt struck down to the very heart. "I wouldn't dream of besmirching your precious legacy, as that is all you care about."

"Cedric! This conversation is not over-"

Cedric threw the door open, nearly tripping over his mother's diminutive form lurking on the threshold. "Oh," she pasted on a surprised expression. "Is everything alright, Ceddy? We heard raised voices."

He wasn't sure whether to roll his eyes or smile, as if it weren't blatantly obvious that his mother had been eavesdropping. "Thank you for lunch, Mummy." He tried to keep the chill from his tone, but failed. The fight with his father too fresh, as were his stinging cuts. "I'm afraid I have to go. Do tell Cordelia and Calista I said good bye."

"But-"

He walked passed her, heading directly out the door. Even out of the house, he couldn't fail to hear Winifred's formidable tempter turn on her husband. Despite everything, he couldn't help but smirk at his mother's raised voice, shouting, "What did you do to my Ceddykins?" as he stormed away from the house.

* * *

Lucinda was shopping in the market when she saw the now familiar sight of Princess Sofia weaving through the crowd coming towards her. The witch opened her mouth, intent on teasing the royal about her nightly activities some more, but the pale tones of the princess's face made Lucinda swallow down her comments.

"It's Cedric," Sofia panted, out of breath.

"What's wrong with Cedric? Sofia, do you need help?"

"No," the princess pressed a hand to her stomach, fighting to breath around the constrains of her corset. "I don't mean something's wrong with Cedric. I mean it's Cedric. He's Cedric. The man from my dreams is Cedric."

The witches eyebrows nearly disappeared under the brim of her hat. She whistled long and low. "Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes." Sofia leaned against the nearest building, finally catching her breath. "The language he was speaking, I heard it today, from Goodwin and Winifred. It's his family's codex. That's why I didn't recognize it."

"Sofia," Lucinda gripped her arm, shaking her a little. A wide smile broke across the witch's face."This is wonderful."

"It is?" Sofia asked, still looking stunned and pale.

"Yes! You two are basically married already, just without the good parts. And," she cocked her brow, "it sound like those are the best parts."

Sofia thought on her dreams, remembering not the burning, insatiable passion, but the sense of familiarity and completion. The tenderness with which he kissed her neck. The way he spoke to her, coaxing her, calming her. Just last night she'd whispered how she thought she loved him. She remembered him smiling against her lips as he answered, _"_ _Is breá liom tú_ _... I love you, too."_

Her heart began to gallop, her corset going tight again. "I think I need to sit down."

Once inside the cottage, Sofia sat at the table, taking deep gulps of air. Lucinda set a cup before her.

"Thank you," she mumbled, taking a deep swallow. Fire burned down her throat and she sputtered. "What is this?"

"Whiskey," the witch said with a shrug. "You seemed like you needed something stronger than coffee or tea."

Sofia eyed the amber liquid before throwing the rest of it back with a cringe. There wasn't enough to make her drunk, just take some of the edge off her nerves. She handed the empty cup back. "Thank you, but I think some tea would be best from now on. I already made a fool of myself last night thinking alcohol would solve my problems."

"Really?" Lucinda asked with interest as she filled the kettle and set a fire on the stove with her wand. "What did you do?"

Sofia realized with a shock that she'd just spoken to the witch yesterday. How had so much happened in such a short time? Taking a deep breath of air, she told the other girl everything that had transpired since the previous morning: The All Hallows Ball, drinking too much in a poor attempt to ease her mind, her mother's veiled confession and her parents' taciturn approval, her visit to Mystic Meadows and the revelation of her night time lover's tender endearment. And Cedric, she poured out every detail about their twisting, changing relationship and her uncovered feelings. By the time she finished they were both seated, half empty cups of tea before them.

"Wow, Sof. So you didn't use Mom's spell?"

"No," she shook her head. "I couldn't. I can't, not yet. You heard what she said, I need a clear purpose, and I really don't have that right now. Everything has happened so fast." She gazed down into her cup a moment longer before suddenly asking, "Did you know?"

"Did I know Cedric was your dream lover? No, how could I? I mean, thought maybe, but-"

"No, I mean, did you know I was in love with him?"

The witch shifted guiltily, shrugging her shoulders. "It was kind of obvious."

Sofia threw her hands over her face and moaned. "Did everyone but me know?"

"Pretty much. Well, everyone except you and Amber. And Cedric ,of course. But I can tell you one thing," Lucinda waited until Sofia peeked out from between her fingers.

"What?"

"As obvious as it was that you were falling for him, it's just as obvious that he's completely in love with you too."

"Really?" She dared to lower her hands away from her face.

"Yeah, Sof. I would have said something, but you seemed pretty deep in denial. Then the whole you're royalty and he's not, I wasn't sure how much of a problem that would cause for you."

"Not as much as I thought," she stared contemplatively down into the dregs of her tea leaves. "Apparently Mom and Dad have already made peace with it."

"Yeah," the witch chuckled, "I'd bet your Mom is mostly to thank for that."

Sofia couldn't help but smirk. "I'd say that's a sure bet."

After a beat of silence, Lucinda quirked her right brow. "So ..."

"So?"

"So what are you going to do with your new found knowledge?" The witch clapped her hands, a wide grin filling her face. "I vote hustling your buns back to that castle and buying a ticket on that ride the first chance you get."

Sofia couldn't help but laugh at her antics, and it helped ease some of the tension that had taken up residence between her shoulders. "Just one problem, Luce. You said it yourself, Cedric might love me," she flushed just to say it, "But he doesn't know it. How am I supposed to explain this to him? I know what's been going on and even I'm all out of sorts about it."

Lucinda's smile turned into a grimace. "I see what you mean. He is going to freak."

"By the goddess," Sofia threaded her hands into her hair, holding her head. "You're right, he is going to absolutely flip out."

"No," the witch waved her hands, trying to get the princess's attention, "No, let's not be negative about this. Maybe it won't be so bad."

"How could it possibly not be that bad? Am I just supposed to walk up to him out of nowhere and say," her voice dropped into a pantomime of nonchalance, but not without a hint of a panic, "Lovely weather we're having, Cedric. By the way, I'm in love with you, but don't worry my parents are totally fine with it, and, oh yeah, no pressure, but apparently we're destined to be married. I know because we've been boning each other every night in our shared dreams!"

"Wow," Lucinda stared at her, stunned, "You really are freaking out. You said boning."

"What do I do Luce?" Sofia asked with an intensity building to desperation. "How am I supposed to explain this to him?"

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't suggested that stupid spell ..."

"No," Sofia sighed, calming a little, "You didn't know this would happen. The funny thing is, the only reason I even went along with it was because I was worried I wouldn't ever feel this way about anyone. I went from being emotionally unavailable to head over heels in love in a matter of three days."

"Well," the witch shrugged, giving her a hint of a smile. "Technically, you were emotionally unavailable _because_ you were head over heels in love and just didn't know it yet."

"But now I do know it, and he doesn't love me back, not yet. To him we're still just friends, and that feels," her shoulders dropped, finally realizing what was at the root of the tight, constricting feeling in her chest, "Awful."

They sat in silence for a moment, Lucinda looking on, feeling helpless.

"I wasn't ready for this," Sofia whispered, "I'm _not_ ready for this. It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

"So end it," the other girl said, sounding pained to see her usually optimistic friend in such anguish, "Use the spell Mom gave you to severe the connection. I know you can't forget what you already know, but maybe without the dreams you can at least try for something approaching normal again."

Of course she'd thought of that option, but something made her draw back away from it. She closed her eyes, feeling weak. "I don't think I can."

"Then there's no getting around it, you have to tell him, Sof."

She opened her eyes, looking down into her empty teacup. "I know," she said softly, "I know."

* * *

Author's Note: Chapter 10 (how in the hell did this fic get so long? I swear it's the characters. They won't shut up.) will be out tomorrow. And even breaking this chapter into two, the next chapter is still 11 pages long.

Loving the reviews. :) Thank you so much for validating my madness. :D


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I wanted to have this out last night, but there were some editing choices I had to sleep on. I kept fiddling with this chapter and finally had to let the chips fall where they may.

Kira444: Thanks for the suggestion of writing one shots. Unfortunately the problem with me writing one-shots is that ... this is my one-shots! They turn into little monsters. Cute, intense, sexy monsters, but monsters nonetheless. Spelled was supposed to be on one-shot and ended up being 60 pages long. Intoxication was a one-shot and we won't even talk about that hot mess. (Which will be updated soon, I promise.)

I don't mind my crazy little stories expanding beyond the original parameters, I just hope I'm not making you guys sick to death of my verbose writing tendencies.

Sóifia is pronounced So-eh-fee-ah. So really just a slightly different undulation of her name.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Ten

* * *

Looking For Your Face

 _From the beginning of my life  
I have been looking for your face  
but today I have seen it_

Today I have seen  
the charm, the beauty, and  
the unfathomable grace  
of the face that I have been looking for

Today I have found you  
and those who laughed and scorned me yesterday  
are sorry they were not looking as I did

I am bewildered by the magnificence of your beauty  
and wish to see you with a hundred eyes

My heart has burned with passion and has searched forever  
for this wondrous beauty I now behold

-Rumi

* * *

Cedric didn't head straight for the castle, instead he took a meandering, circumspect route round the village and surrounding forest. The weather was crisp but sunny, warming his shoulders as he tried to work out the tangled thoughts inside his head. Try as he might to not let his father's words affect him, they still seeped into his conscience, making him question his relationship with the princess.

Was he hindering her from finding a suitable match? Though Princess Amber and Goodwin were apparently in doubt of Sofia's prospects, Cedric found their assessments laughable. He had no doubt that when she was ready, Sofia wouldn't fail to have dozens of princes falling at her feet. That she didn't have any at present rested solely on the fact that, as Goodwin had pointed out, she had no interest in doing so. Sofia was young, beautiful, and charming with literally every advantage in the world at her disposal. Cedric didn't think it was bias on his part believing that she could have anyone she chose. So what was she doing spending all her time with an irascible, aging sorcerer like him?

Were these dreams clouding his judgment? Making him see possibility where it didn't really exist? But he was sure that despite his sleep-depraved mind, he wasn't mistaken that things were different between them. Their easy friendship seemed to be dissolving by the day, replaced with ... something uncertain. He used to be so much better guarded from her before these dreams started. With such salacious and vivid images play through his mind at night it was difficult not to let his imagination wander during the day. It was far easier than he cared to acknowledge to picture sapphire blue eyes darkened with desire. To imagine her blushing lips parted on a breathy moan.

A tender, new feeling blossomed in his chest, like the first spring flower poking out from under a blanket of snow: _Hope_. The one feeling he'd guarded most closely against when it came to the princess. The walls he'd built around his heart were made to keep treacherous, lying feelings like hope out. But Sofia had found her way in despite his efforts. If he built a wall, she simply scaled it, determined to worm her way inside his very soul. These dreams had rent him open, leaving no part safe from her.

He scowled remembering what she said in the hall last night: _"I will have a husband someday. And he'll be sweet, and kind and he'll be_ great _in bed."_

 _No doubt_ , he thought sourly. She deserved as much, but thinking on her writhing in the arms of another man hurt like a blade twisting in his chest.

His father was right about a few things, though he was loath to admit it. Sofia was unsuited to him, and the notion that she'd want him, despite her parents' assurances, was ridiculous. Pitiable, indeed that he'd even entertain such notions. But entertain them he did, and so he had to admit another hard truth. Perhaps the time had come to severe the ties between them. Or at very least to distance himself from her. Some not so distant day she would find a suitor from those scores of princes, and he'd have to endure watching her fall in love with someone else. He felt ill, realizing with a dawning alarm that as her friend she'd probably wish to confined in him, detailing every bit of her future, unfolding love. The very idea was horrifying.

But the thought of pushing her away reached inside his chest and pulled something tight. He could barely breath around the image of her confused, distraught face. He was terrible at denying even her smallest request. How could he cut her from his life? To do so was tantamount to severing a limb, except the amputation would be of his heart.

 _Ifreann diabhal_ , how had he not seen it earlier? Why had he not known until now what a lovesick, besotted fool he'd become?

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time he drug himself up the tower stairs, his shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of his thoughts. He paused at the door, finding it open a crack though he'd certainly locked it before leaving. Only one person bothered to use the spare key. Squaring his shoulders with a bracing breath, he tried to rearrange his features into a less put upon state. She didn't need to know how out of sorts he was; about the fight with his father and his bleak thoughts afterwards.

Inside the workshop Sofia was seated at his table, head bent low over a book. Absorbed as she was, he walked up behind her easily, peering over her shoulder. "I didn't know you could read ancient Ertherian glyphs."

She jumped, turning quickly enough that they almost collided, except he'd anticipated her response and pulled back. "Cedric!" She pressed a hand to her heart. "You startled me."

"Sorry," he smirked. "Enjoying the book?"

"What?" She blinked. "Oh! Um, not really. I can't read it."

"Understandable, considering it's written in a thousand year old dead language." He wandered away, pulling his official robes from a peg on the wall and shrugging into them.

"Can you read it, then?"

He turned, considering whether to pretend he could, but in the end he laughed lightly. "No."

"Then why do you have it?"

"Because," he drew his wand from his pocket, waving it over the book, "if you do this: Lexicarium Revealo."

Sofia gasped softly as page rippled like water disturbed by a dropped stone. The little glyphs reformed into letters she recognized.

"As long as the text isn't enchanted against it, you can use that spell to read any text."

She turned her head towards him, flushing at his nearness. With him leaning over her shoulder, they were awfully close together. Her eyes took on the same glossy cast as in the cemetery and her gaze flickered down to his mouth. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"U-um, as you c-can see this book is actually about light bending spells. How to combine elements of air and fire, that sort of thing. Hardly riveting reading."

"Sounds illuminating," she giggled, biting her lip.

"What?" He asked vaguely, before registering what she'd said. He forced out a light chuckle. "Yes, I suppose."

Silence lengthened between them while Sofia's hands fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt. "Don't let Wormwood fool you," she said at last, "I've already fed him."

The raven cawed, probably grumbling at her for selling him out. Sofia only smiled indulgently at the irate bird as he hopped away, puffing up his chest feathers in offense before taking flight out the open window.

"I was wondering why he wasn't pestering me the minute I entered," he said, mostly for something to say. Awkwardly, he moved away from her, not sure what to do or where to stand with her sitting in his only chair.

They were both avoiding the real question, though Cedric wasn't sure what it was. Back at Mystic Meadows, when she'd suddenly jumped up and run like the hounds of Hades were chasing her, she'd said she'd explaining everything later. He wasn't even sure what it was she felt she needed to explain, but he felt a nervous sort of dread all the same. If only he wasn't so tired. Rubbing the pressure point between his eyes, he yawned. "So ... was there something that you wanted to tell me?"

She watched him for a moment, her eyes and mouth softening around the edges. "I'm sorry, you're tired. I shouldn't be bothering you right now."

"It's alright," he assured. He liked being bothered by her, though the thought reminded him of uncomfortable revelations. He had let himself become too available to her every whim, but he couldn't help it.

Sofia looked down into her lap, still threading the edge of a puckered ruffle through her nervous fingers. "How have you been sleeping?"

He frowned with confusion. That wasn't the question he'd been expecting. Carefully, he answered, "As well as usual, I suppose."

"Not suffering any bad dreams, I hope," she tittered, her laugh hitting an off-key note.

"Not bad," he paused to consider, "Just strange."

"Good ... strange?"

He felt color rise to his face, like a blushing school boy. She often showed concern for others, but her intrusive questions hit too close to the heart of his confusion lately. He finally settled on, "Distracting strange."

Her brow furrowed as she frowned. If he didn't know any better he would say she appeared troubled, unsure of herself. "Sofia," he called gently. Her head popped up, a slightly startled expression on her face. "You said there was something you needed to explain to me. What was it?"

Her mouth gaped open and closed for a moment, color suffusing her cheeks. At length she said, "I wanted to apologize for running off earlier. I hope I didn't appear rude to your family. I really do enjoy their company. I just had to- to speak to Lucinda about something."

Crossing his arms, he leaned back against his bench. A discomforting feeling tightened his spine, and he realizes that he could sense that she was hiding something from him. Sofia had always been self-assured; in a less gracious person, her temperance could be confused for arrogance. Whatever she was struggling with was obviously difficult for her. She stared at him a moment, an almost pained expression on her face, as if she couldn't make herself speak the words she longed to say. It was a feeling he recognized because he knew it well.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, taking him completely by surprise. "I know I must seem ... odd lately. There's just a few more things I need to work out on my own. I'm sorry for bothering you."

He frowned, thinking how many times he'd expressed frustration or displeasure towards her in the past; pretending to be put upon when he was anything but. He got so good at hiding himself from her, it only now occurred to him that he may have played the part too well. Here she was wrestling with a genuine problem and she felt uncertain about confiding in him. In his earlier thoughts he'd lamented how she might wish to confide in him, but now that she hesitated to do so, he felt utterly wretched.

She stood up, intent to leaving him alone. The sensation of déjà vu struck him, like earlier in the graveyard when he'd drawn her into an embrace, knowing she needed his comfort. He reached out, catching her as she passed. Sofia pulled up short, looking down at his long fingers closed around her wrist before her eyes flitted up to his face.

"You're not bothering me, Sofia. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

A torn look of crossed her face, and if she were a different person, he would swear it was a mix of longing and desire.

"No." She twisted her wrist so that her hand slid along his, entwining their fingers. She gave his fingers a squeeze. Some of her customary confidence crept back into her voice. "Thank you, but I can handle this on my own. I've asked too much from you already. Taken too much."

He blinked in confusion, but then she let go of his hand to snake her arms about his waist. When she pressed her cheek to his heart he forgot everything else. She squeezed him tightly, as he brought his hands round to hold her as well. He shouldn't, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He won the small, but dismal victory of not burying his nose in her hair to inhale her lavender perfume.

After a protracted moment, her grip eased and she lifted her head to look into his face. Leaning against the table made him that much closer to her height and she barely had to crane her head up, tilting her face towards his with intent. He held his breath, holding very still as she pressed her moist lips to his.

It was barely a kiss compared to most. Only slightly more than a touch but less than a taste, and it lasted for less than the span of one heartbeat to the next. Or it would have if his heart weren't beating like a galloping winged horse.

She pulled back, eyes not wide, but hooded, and her lips parted on a breathy intake of air. "I'll let you get some sleep. I promise." Her exhaled words tingled over his lips. "Goodnight, Cedric."

The way she whispered his name sent a jolt through him, coalescing at the base of his spine. As she disentangled her arms, he let her go, uttering an unintelligible sound that about half conveyed that he'd at least understood the words she'd said, even if he didn't understand anything else. It sounded something like, "Nugh."

She walked to the door carefully, as if each step threatened to break her apart. It wasn't until she closed the door softly behind her that he felt light headed and remembered to breathe.

* * *

Cedric woke up in a bed much too soft for his liking, but still comfortable. He stirred briefly, shifting more soundly into the mattress, gathering the warm body pressed against his side tighter. Waves of soft hair spilled over him chest where her head rested against his shoulder. Her arm wrapped snuggly over his abdomen, one of her legs thrown over his. He noted dispassionately that they were both wearing clothes this time.

She wiggled a little against him, lifting her head off his chest. He felt her raise her arm, stroking her fingers lightly over his shoulder, tracing the circular pattern of one of his markings. That same feather soft touch moved to the band around his bicep, before coming up to tentatively comb through his bangs. He turned his face into her palm but she drew back.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"'S okay," he mumbled, eyes still closed and heavy.

She laid her head back down, resting her hand warmly over his heart. "I know you're tired. Go back to sleep."

Fatigue weighed down on him. Her breathy whisper felt like a command, lulling him back into oblivion. He _did_ feel tired, and he was _awfully_ comfortable and content, holding her in his arms. While his ardor for her could easily be stirred, he was also satisfied simply holding her. He turned briefly, kissing the top of her head before settling back down, sighing happily.

"Good night, Cedric," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his chest. Her word tripped some trigger of familiarity in his mind.

"Mmm," he rumbled, "Oíche mhaith ( _Good night_ ), Sóifia."

She gasped, going stiff in his arms.

"Cad atá mícheart, a ghrá?" He mumbled, coming more awake. When she didn't answer, he clarified, "What's wrong, love?"

"You ... You know who I am?"

He finally managed to blink his eyes open, looking down to see a cap of burnished auburn curls and wide cornflower blue eyes staring back at him. "I know who I want you to be."

She frowned then, her brow furrowing. "This is still a dream to you."

"Of course," he rumbled, tilting her chin up with his knuckle, leaning forward. "What else would it be?"

Her full bottom lip fell between both of his and he licked his tongue out to taste her sugar sweet flavor. She moaned against him, a tempting noise of new-born desire that made his member twitch to life. His fingers slid around from her chin to the back of her neck, angling her up to deepen their kiss. She whimpered, nails biting into his skin where her fingers tightened against his chest. He wanted more of her, to feel her bare skin with his fingertips. Her gauzy night rail dissolved, leaving her pink and rosy and complete bare. When he ran his hand down her neck, over the bend of her waist, she gasped in delightfully innocent surprise. His palm tickled over her hip, heading lower until he could cup the satiny curve of her rump.

Sofia pulled back with a gasp when his fingertips curled around her thigh, combing through her damp nether curls. "We shouldn't ... I shouldn't t-take advantage like this. You don't know what's going on."

"Mmm," he hummed, completely unconcerned. "Then allow me to be the one taking advantage."

He smirked at her, but she continued to stare back, blinking owlishly. The poor thing did seem conflicted. His fingers stilled, not straying further. "Do you want me to stop?"

She bit her lip, whining. He saw surrender cross her face just before her eyes slid closed. "No."

He rolled his fingertips through her wet lips, stroking, coaxing, finding the hidden, hooded gem at the top of her sex and massaging it firmly. Her head fell back against his shoulder, hand grasping his arm just above the dark band of symbols encircling his bicep. She was boneless in his embrace, shaking and quivering while a concert of little panting moans fell from her lips. Those sounds were enticing, but he wanted to hear her calling out in full throated cries of pleasure. Carefully her rolled her onto the bed, planting a hand by her head to hover over her.

He pulled his hand from behind her thigh to palm her pubis; two fingers gliding down the seam of her lips before parting her folds to slide inside. She clenched at the intimate contact, eyes opening wide to meet his. He watched her as he started to move, mating his fingers to her sex.

"Ifreann diabhal, you're beautiful."

Her flushed cheeks darkened, and he felt a tightening around every thrust. He increased the rhythm of his strokes, crooking his fingers to hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. Sofia's back began to arch. Her eyes pressed closed, unable to hold the gentle intensity of his gaze.

"Cedric," she whimpered, sending a primitive throb of arousal racing down his spine.

He leaned down to kiss her and she wasted no time wrapping her arms around his neck.

"That's it, ceann milis ( _sweet one_ ), let go. Teacht go dtí mé."

Her head worried back and forth against the pillow while she sobbed, tightening around his fingers. "I don't know ... what that means."

He moved his head to the side, licking the shell of her ear. "Come for me, my love."

His throaty command had her crying out, hips pressing off the bed. He had to brace his weight on his elbow lest she pull him down atop her as her arms tightened, nearly strangling him. When her spasms eased, arms loosening to grasp his shoulders as she took deep gulps of air, he raised up to look down on her again.

"Ailleacht." ( _Beautiful._ )

Her eyes, darkened to sapphires, blinked sluggishly open. "I shouldn't have let you do that."

"Let me?" He cocked his right eyebrow, smirking. "Then I suppose you shouldn't let me do this either."

He kissed her lips, soft and quick, before planting a similar kiss to the underside of her jaw. He continued down, over her clavicle, between her breasts, and over the softly curved expanse of her belly. His tongue dipped briefly into her navel and she shuttered. His shoulders slipped between her parted legs as he curled an arm around each thigh, holding her steady. When he nipped the sensitive expanse just above her curls, she grabbed his shoulders.

"Cedric!"

He rolled his eyes lazily up to look at her. "Yes?"

Her pupils were blown wide giving her a wild appearance. Her chest rose and fell around her ragged breathing. "Are you sure ... that is, do you ... do you really want to do this?"

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." His deviant smirk seemed to make her weak as she let go, falling back against the pillows in shock. Her innocence was overwhelming. He wanted to give her more. Anything. Everything. To please her with every skill at his disposal.

His eyes held hers while he kissed the soft juncture where her leg and thigh joined. Hot breath teased her damp curls and she shivered. He ran the flat of his tongue through her folds, eyes rolling back and closed as his senses filled with her heady scent and taste. Her hips bucked, prompting him to tighten his hold, spreading her thighs wider apart so he could explore more thoroughly. He licked a slow trail from her entrance to the hooded bud at the top of her sex. Her back arched when he repeated the gesture, this time pausing to circle the swollen nub before flickering over it in swift, sharp strokes, making her cry out.

He lavished her with attention, painting dark strokes of desire with his lips and tongue. Her hips curled towards him, legs falling open to offer more of herself to his hungry mouth. He pierced her flesh, delving into her channel before licking his way back to her clit. There he sealed his mouth over her and sucked, mercilessly stroking the throbbing bud until she was bucking against him, riding his mouth with abandon. And he let her, holding her steady even as she rocked against him.

He opened his eyes to savor the sight of his sweet Sofia, spread out naked before his hungry gaze, lost in pure pleasure. Her cries rose from panting moans to shrieks. Letting go of one of her legs, he nudged two fingers slowly into her wet channel. Heat dripped from her, easing his passage as he pulled away with a slow drag before thrusting back in, stroking her closer to climax.

She came with a scream, pulsing wildly around his hand, undulating up against his sucking mouth. He pulled away slowly, savoring the distinct flavor and heated cries that he just knew would haunt him during his waking hours. As she wound down from the spiraling heights of ecstasy, he climbed back over her, resting his hips between her splayed thighs. He kissed her again, relishing the softness of her lips as the heat of her body cradled him below. Shifting his hips, he positioned the hot, weeping tip of his cock to rest at her entrance.

"Wait!" She cried, startling him enough that he backed away.

"What? What's wrong, a ghrá?"

She sat up, gripping his shoulders before throwing her arms about him in a tight hug. "Nothing. Everything. I don't know."

He stroked her back soothingly. "It's okay."

"Just let me...," she licked her lips nervously. Gently she pressed against his chest coaxingly, turning him to lie back against the pillows. "You've been so good to me, let me please you."

He rose both eyebrows at that. "Alright. If you insist."

Though she smiled, the nervous light never left her eyes. Leaning forward she copied the same movements he used on her, kissing him lightly before trailing down his torso, coming closer to her goal. The loose skeins of her curls tickled his thighs when she settled between his legs, her breath ghosting over his erection, the slight warmth branding like fire. She licked a tentative line from his base to the head. He groaned in the back of his throat, encouraging her to repeat the gesture. She looked up to find his eyes darkly dilated with passion and anticipation.

By the time she dipped her head, taking him slowly - _so slowly_ \- into her mouth, he was panting, gripping the sheets in his white knuckled hands. Her tongue flicked out, caressing the underside of his shaft. She pressed down until he felt the heated touch of the back of her throat. There she paused, humming in appreciation. The vibration sent a jolt of pleasure rocking through him. Her head bobbed upwards, tongue working against his underside until her lips tighten over his crown and she flicked her tongue against his weeping slit.

"Ifreann diabhal," he groaned, thrusting both hands into her hair, fingers tightening. She hummed her approval again, bobbing her head in a smooth, silky rhythm that left him panting. Her tongue flickered against the ridge just below his head, and he just barely managed to hold still, valiantly resisting the urge to move against her warm, wet mouth.

"If you keep that up," he growled, scarcely able to breathe around the bubble of pleasure threatening to burst in his loins. "I'm going to -"

She added a gentle suction, tonguing the furrow below the base of his head again. His fingers curled against her scalp as he came with a guttural groan, shooting hotly into her mouth. She took the action with aplomb, continuing to suck him gently until he finished pulsing. When she pulled away, she swallowed before licking her lips.

He stared at her in awe.

"Was that alright?" She asked shyly.

He laughed shortly and would have gladly gathered her into his arms if he weren't too boneless to move. "Come here," he waved vaguely.

She climbed back up the bed, nestling against his side. He gathered her to him, kissing the top of her head. "De réir an bandia ( _By the Goddess_ ), I love you."

She peered up at him, all big eyes and swollen lips. If she hadn't just spent him so completely, he'd gladly take her now, just for that look. "Do you really?" She asked hesitantly.

He cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her cheek. "Yes."

"How did you say it before? In your language?"

"Before?" He mused, smiling down at her. Of course, his dream lover was Sofia. Had always been Sofia. The truth didn't surprise him just now. "Is breá liom tú."

Her inhaled breath wavered, a strange, strong light glowing in her eyes. " Is breá ... liom ... tú ?"

She paused, looking to him for confirmation that she was saying it right. He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

She raised up on her elbow to look into his face. Her cornflower eyes meeting his golden green stare. He held his breath. "Is breá liom tú, Cedric."

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, bending her forward for a kiss."Is breá liom tú, Sóifia."

* * *

Author's Note: I seriously considered scraping this whole scene and just moving to the whole conflict resolution stage, but I'd already written it and it seemed such a shame to waste a perfectly good citrus scene. And I like it because it spoke to the issue of consent for Cedric, which had been brought up in a few reviews.

Next chapter we'll catch up with Sofia; her reaction ,reasons, etc. One question I got was how many chapters are left. I can say with relative certainty that there will be three more chapters and an epilogue. Next update won't be for a few days what with the Thanksgiving holiday here in the states. I've got to go make some pies. :)

Love the reviews. They are so amazing. Thank you so much!


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: FOUR DIFFERENT DRAFTS! Four times I wrote this damn chapter before I felt satisfied with it. I wrote the equivalent of over 40 pages of text. Ugh! I'm sorry it took so long, just know I haven't stopped writing. Sometimes I have to go through a whole lot of junk before finding the good stuff.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Eleven

* * *

 _Sometimes people put up walls,_

 _Not to keep others out,_

 _But to see who cares enough to break them down._

\- Banana Yoshimoto

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Marla asked for the third time that morning. "Give up control like this?"

"Yes." Sofia nodded, reassuring herself that this decision was the correct one, even if it was daunting. "Trying to hold on to control is what got me into this mess in the first place."

"Well," the older witch's lips twisted into a wry smirk as she bent over the parchment on the table, quill scratching, "I believe my wayward daughter also had something to do with it."

Lucinda crossed her arms over her night dress, hair still a mess from being dragged from bed at the unforgivable hour of mid-morning. "Hey, I thought you were proud."

Marla put down the quill, assessing her writing. "I was," she muttered, "Until you two had this bright idea to copy down one of MY spells. And to hand over to a sorcerer, of all people."

Sofia cringed, knowing that her request was not only unorthodox but down-right taboo in the magic handling community. "I know, and I am very grateful."

"Besides," Lucinda added, pausing to yawn, "It's not like he's going to use it. Sofia just needs it to help him understand what's been happening. If someone cast a spell on you, wouldn't you want to see it?"

"Point taken. But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. And, Sofia, dear, you promise-"

"That I'll destroy the copy as soon as soon as he's read it, yes." She put out her hand for the parchment. Marla hesitated before handing it over reluctantly. "And the other spell? The one to stop the dreams, will it work for him?"

"I had to make some modifications," the older witch passed over the same bundle of herbs she'd given the princess two days ago, but with an addition of some pungent leaf Sofia couldn't identify. The white candle still had the red marking, but now the other side bore a new carving filled in with black. Marla sighed dramatically, waving a hand over a second sheet of paper. "I wrote those instructions down as well. You know, Granny Margretta is probably spinning in her grave right now."

Lucinda snickered. "Great-Gran never trusted any magic handler that wasn't blood related. And sometimes not even then. She always said she'd rather die before handing over any of her secrets."

"Yes," Marla's eyes crinkled with mischief, "She barely added to the family grimorie, preferring to let her spells die with her. In fact, I hope she is spinning in her grave, greedy old bat."

Sofia packed away her parchments and the parts for the spell. "Again, thank you for this. I'll make sure your secrets are safe. I'm through breaking promises."

Lucinda paused mid-stretch, eyebrow lifting with sudden interest. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

Sofia shook her head, silently cursing the telltale flush that colored her face. "Nothing."

"Nothing as in you'll tell me later?"

"Nope," the princess replied, latching the clasp on her satchel before standing up to take her leave.

"You're no fun," the young witch pouted. Marla chuckled into her cup of coffee, rolling her eyes at her daughter's dramatics.

"Sorry, Luce," Sofia frowned in earnest, fiddling with the leather strap on her bag. "It was fun at first, but it's not so funny anymore. Not when I feel like I've betrayed the trust of the person I care for the most."

Lucinda got up from the table, coming around to place gentle hands on her friend's shoulders. "Hey, you didn't mean for any of this to happen. You've been thrown for as much of a ride as he has. Probably more so."

"I guess. But he'd about to get a rude awakening." Sofia chanced a glance up at her dark-haired friend. Her voice sounded small when she asked, "You don't think he'll hate me for this, do you?"

"Of course not." The witch hugged her tightly, fairly squeezing the breath from her. Lucinda hated to see someone as assured as Sofia doubt herself.

"I agree," Marla interjected, "I don't think he'll have cause to hate you, but you can probably expect that his initial reaction will not be a good one. I won't sugar coat it, Dearie, this spell turned into a doozy. Much stranger than I've seen in the past. You should have told him when you found out who he was."

"Mom," Lucinda whined, "There's no need to make her feel any worse."

"On the contrary, you two thought you were big enough to perform unsanctioned magic without a supervising witch, you're lucky all I do it chastise. Honestly, I should have gone to this sorcerer of yours myself, Sofia, but I trusted your judgment. Sometimes trial by fire is the only way to learn."

"Thank you for that, Miss Marla. I would not have wanted anyone to take responsibility for my actions. I did this, now I need to face the consequences."

Lucinda gave her one last quick squeeze before saying good-bye. On her way out Sofia could hear mother telling daughter, "And don't think you're off the hook, Missy. You get to replenish my stores of pickled newt entrails, by hand."

Sofia cringed, wondering if she'd perhaps gotten off easy after all. All she need do now was confront Cedric with the truth-

-and hope he wasn't too horrified by her flagrant misuse of his subconscious that he never wished to speak to or see her again.

Pulling her cloak tighter against the wind, she started for the castle. After the sunny weather of yesterday a cold front had moved in overnight. Her breath wafted out in a chill cloud as she made the long trek back to the castle. She could have ridden, or taken a carriage to make the trip shorter, but she desired the time to collect her thoughts.

She'd never felt so disappointed and ashamed of herself before, and the unaccustomed feelings made her stomach jump with nerves. Yesterday she thought she'd felt guilty, but that was nothing compared to today. And making her confession was now magnitudes more difficult than it would have been had she just told him the truth last night.

She'd gone to bed with the best of intentions, determined to follow Marla's instruction and take control of her dreams. She'd thought long and hard about Lucinda's plea, about severing the supernatural connection forged by ill-used magic. But what she'd told the witch was true: she couldn't. As unnerving as her dreams were, to end this fragile new discovery so abruptly felt wrong. As did revealing herself. If she couldn't admit the truth to Cedric in real life, she shuttered to imagine doing so in a dream, where they could possibly find themselves in bed together, naked. She cringed, imagining Cedric's reaction to that. Lying in bed last night, waiting for sleep to come, she'd concentrated hard on her promise. Cedric looked so worn, so tired in his workshop, and the guilt pressed hard upon her. She'd meant it when she'd vowed to let him rest. She could control these dreams. She would temper her curiosity and lust and leave him be to sleep in peace.

Picking her way over the frosted patches of grass and slick cobblestones, she left the village boundaries, nearing the bridge that connected Dunwhitty to Enchancia castle. Cedric's tower was easy to pick out from the skyline. His tower, such a poignant metaphor for how he guarded himself against the world. She felt a maligned pang squeeze her heart. Cedric tried so hard to keep order and predictability in his life, but despite his careful efforts, chaos always found its way in. And she was often the cause. Pressing a hand to her fluttering stomach, the memory of last night's dream washed over her. Her plan hadn't worked quite as she'd expected, when she'd woke in a bed, lying half way across his body:

 _His arms held her loosely, and she lay frozen for a moment listening to the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. Assured he was indeed asleep, she lifted her head cautiously. The sight of his face, relaxed in repose, captured her attention at once. Her eyes darted over every familiar feature, confirming the truth._

 _Her curious gaze lowered, finding his chest bare, the rest of him dressed in a pair of dark sleep pants. She wore a nightgown, to her relief. A quick exploration of his skin revealed not only the tattoos she'd already seen, but several more. Moving cautiously so as not to disturb him, she delicately traced part of the intricate circle at his shoulder before touching the band on his arm. The contrast between his staid daytime attire and the raw sensuality of his bare, tattooed skin kindled the flame of desire in her belly. She tamped it down, remembering her promise._

 _When she combed her fingers lovingly through his bangs, unable to deny herself a tender caress of his most telling feature, she hadn't expected he'd turn into her touch._

 _She drew back, startled. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."_

 _"'S okay," he mumbled, obviously less than awake._

 _She smiled fondly, hearing his voice, recognizing it clearly now. Control, she remembered, she was in control._

 _"I know you're tired," she whispered, hoping to lull him back to sleep. Laying her head down on his chest, she could be content just lying here in his embrace. "Go back to sleep."_

 _A delighted shiver ran through her when he kissed the top of her head before settling down with a happy sigh. Love surged through her. Love and longing and sadness that this wasn't real. She swallowed down the lump at the back of her throat. "Good night, Cedric," she whispered._

 _"Mmm," the chest beneath her cheek rumbled. "Oíche mhaith, S_ _óifia_ _."_

 _An involuntary gasp tore from her lips and she froze. S_ _óifia_ _. While it was said in a strange undulation that matched his language, it was undoubtedly her name._

 _"Cad atá mícheart, a ghrá? What's wrong, love?"_

 _Sofia picked her head up, finding a pair of familiar golden green eyes looking back at her with tender concern. "You ... You know who I am?"_

 _"I know who I want you to be."_

 _His answer proved conflicting. She thrilled, realizing he wanted her. Her. But to him this wasn't real. A fantasy. "This is still a dream to you."_

 _"Of course," his tilted her chin up with his knuckle, leaning forward, "What else would it be?"_

 _Sofia knew she shouldn't allow it, but when he kissed her she couldn't help the small noise of desire that rose from the back of her throat. And it was the catalyst that blew her carefully laid plan all to Hell. His fingers slid around from her chin to the back of her neck, angling her up to deepen their kiss with a confidence she hadn't seen in their waking interactions. When his fingers trailed down her neck and shoulder, touching over her bare waist, she gasped in honest surprise. Both of their clothes were gone, and she hadn't done that. Marla had warned her. He could take control, she'd said, he had the power to do so. And as his hands ghosted over her bare skin, curling over her hip and around her thigh to tease the curls between her legs, Sofia realized that while she wanted his touch, this wasn't entirely her doing. This was Cedric's._

 _"We shouldn't ... I shouldn't t-take advantage like this. You don't know what's going on."_

 _"Mmm," he hummed in a noise of male satisfaction that made her thighs clench. "Then allow me to be the one taking advantage."_

 _His assured smirk made her weak with its dark promises. But his fingers had strayed no further. "Do you want me to stop?"_

 _His fingertips stayed just beyond reach of the place that wanted him the most. Her eyes slid close in guilty surrender. "No."_

 _He touched her them, caressing and coaxing her body to heights of pleasure that left her clinging to him. She submitted completely to his touch. When he rolled her onto her back, her eyes flew open at the shocking intimacy of his fingers inside her. She hadn't thought there could be anything more erotic than the anonymity of being taken in the dark by a stranger. She'd been so very wrong in that regard. Knowing who was pleasuring her with his hands and mouth, whispering that she was beautiful, commanding she come for him, was magnitudes more arousing. Instead of shying from his unfamiliar demeanor, she thrilled to see a side of Cedric that others didn't. A side that belonged to her alone._

 _They'd been together in other dreams, but this one was by far the most intimate. Every touch, every kiss, every throaty word and every gaze told her that he adored her. He loved her. He wanted her. He was no longer a dark stranger of mystery and moonlight. He was hers. Her friend. Her sorcerer. And now her lover._

 _When he climbed over her body, and she felt the heat of his manhood positioned at her entrance, she panicked, making him back away. She wanted to, but couldn't, not like this. Not anymore. As badly as she wanted to take him inside her and let him make love to her, to do so like this felt all wrong._

 _"Let me please you," She'd offered, wanting to make him feel some of the pleasure he gave to her._

 _He rose both eyebrows at that. "Alright. If you insist."_

 _She offered him a nervous smile, watching as his eyes dilated with desire. She kissed him, mimicking what he'd done to her, truly without a clue what she was attempting. She settled between his legs, tracing the veins and ridges of his flesh with her eyes before flicking her tongue out to taste him. He groaned deeply, encouraging her to try for more. His flesh was surprisingly soft and warm against her lips when she carefully enveloped him. His throaty groans, and clenched hands told her she was doing something right as she memorized him with her tongue, finding each little part that made him twist and pant beneath her._

 _"If you keep that up," he growled, fingers tightening against her scalp, "I'm going to-"_

 _His words cut off on a moan when she sucked, flicking her tongue against the spot just below the head of his member that made him tense. She moved her head up and down in an imitation of their lovemaking. When he came, pulsing jets of warm, salty liquid into her mouth, she nearly pulled away in surprise. But she held still, prolonging his pleasure until his grip fell limp. She swallowed because really it seemed the thing to do, but when he stared at her in shock, she thought she may have done something wrong._

 _"Was that alright?"_

 _He laughed shortly, smiling as he waved a tired hand at her. "Come here."_

 _She climbed back up the bed, nestling against his side. He gathered her to him, kissing the top of her head. "_ _De réir an bandia_ _, I love you."_

 _She peered up at him, amazed to hear him stay it first. "Do you really?"_

 _He cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her cheek. "Yes."_

 _"How did you say it before? In your language?"_

 _"Before?" He smiled that lopsided grin at her. "_ _Is breá liom tú_ _."_

 _" Is bre_ _á_ _... liom ..._ _tú_ _?" She paused, looking to him for confirmation that she was saying it right. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. She raised up on her elbow to look into his face. "_ _Is breá liom tú_ _, Cedric."_

 _His hand slipped to the back of her neck, bending her forward for a kiss."_ _Is breá liom tú_ _, S_ _óifia_ _."_

That last kiss had been soft and sweet and achingly tender. She woke from the dream, not with a shock or a gasp, but slowly blinking her eyes open to the morning sun. Physically she felt rested and refreshed, but mentally, everything was in turmoil. This dream had been different from the others. She'd been more aware, and she wondered at the instinct that encouraged her to surrender so completely to his control. Everything they'd shared had been to her liking, and he certainly seemed willing and eager. His subconscious wanted her, but she had no way to know how Cedric would feel about being so completely exposed, stripped bare in every sense of the phrase. In their dreams she'd seen a side of him he didn't show. A side he hid, even from her. She'd exposed him without warning or restraint.

She refused to contemplate his admission of love. Too cautious to hope it real, and too pragmatic to ignore the mitigating factors behind it, thinking on his easy admission of feelings in their dream only confused her, muddying the waters of her determination. She wouldn't hold him to those words, not until he hopefully, maybe, someday said them in person.

Entering the castle, she only paused at her room long enough to remove her cloak. If she dallied, she'd find an excuse not to go, and she'd wasted enough time. Waking that morning, as much as she didn't wish to bother Lucinda yet again with an early morning visit, she knew she needed to give up her foolish pursuit of independence and ask for assistance. Not seek out a friendly ear to gossip, whine and bemoan to, but an ally to help mend the damage she'd caused. She only hoped her planned olive branch was enough to build back some of the fragile trust she was about to break.

She tried not think too far ahead, as all her theories seemed to end in the worst scenarios imaginable. She gathered her little satchel of evidence and offerings tight to her chest, feeling woefully unprepared for battle ahead. But she tried to hold her head high as she marched off to his tower, but her chin trembled despite herself. She never suspecting love would make such a coward of her.

* * *

Last night he'd dreamed of her.

Not a nameless, faceless fantasy, but _her_. _S_ _óifia_ , he'd called her.

This dream last dream had been startlingly vivid; so real he could still hear her breathy moans, still taste the sweetness of her lips, and still feel warmth of her skin. Which was to say nothing of the other palpable memories of touch and taste. He whimpered, feeling a treacherous twitch of lust low in his gut.

How could he possibly look her in the eye after this? Knowing what dark fantasies he harbored?

As if the universe were playing some perverse joke with him, which it often did, a knock rattled his door. He suspected he knew who stood on the other side. For a moment he considered options, wondering if it wasn't best to send her away. But, no, of course that would never do. It wasn't Sofia's fault that he dreamed of doing indecent things to her. And of her eagerly returning the favor.

He got up with a weary sigh, crossing the room to let her in. The sight of her in the flesh was like a slap to the face. Her flushed cheeks, bright eyes and cherry red lips grabbed his attention at once. Hastily, he looked away trying not to remember what those lips had done in his dream.

"Sofia," he cleared his throat as his voice cracked around her name, "I didn't expect you."

Her heart tried to beat its way out her sternum at the sight of him. In all her years she'd never had such a reaction to his presence, not even yesterday once she _knew_. Her eyes darted over his face, less tired but still worn, and all the soft, needy places on her body tightened. "M-may I come in?"

"Now is not the best time," he hedged, hoping she'd take the hint.

"Are you busy?" She didn't think she could rally her courage a second time to come back if he sent her away. "It's rather important that we talk."

"I suppose I could spare a moment." He stepped aside, allowing her entrance. Walking back to his worktable, he examined it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "Was there something I could help you with?"

"That thing I wanted to tell you yesterday," she began, trying to steel her nerves, "Well ,now I _need_ to tell you. In fact, I see now that I should not have waited."

"I am sorry." He rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "I know you are facing some problem of late, but I fear I can't be of assistance to you just now." Even her presence, the subtle scent of her lavender perfume, made his body want to react. He feared he was losing proper perception, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring hopelessly together.

She was quiet so long, he began to worry that he'd hurt her feelings. Quietly, she walked up beside him, setting a small bag of worn leather on the table. He squinted at it before looking up at her in question. "I'm sorry," she breathed, her eyes bright and glossy, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"For what to happen?"

Instead of answering, she raised her hand to touch his cheek. It wasn't the caress of a friend, but a woman who understood his confusion and pain because she felt the same. He quickly told himself that such a notion was insane. But then perhaps he was going crazy, the wicked tempting phantom of his Dream-Sofia driving him slowly mad. The real Sofia looked at him, really looked into his face and his eyes, the corners of her own crinkling in a subtle pain. When she leaned up towards him, he was helpless to resist.

Sofia knew she shouldn't. But he looked so vulnerable and confused, and he'd become so dear to her. She wanted to comfort him, the way he had done in her dreams with affectionate kisses. And though it was greedy and selfish, she wanted one kiss. One real kiss, in case it was the only one she got. Rather than just a quick press , like her farewell kiss last night, she molded her lips against his mouth, rising up on her toes to better reach him. He grasped her waist firmly, and the strength in his hands sent a jolt of heat streaking through her. She snaked her arms around his neck, tugged his closer as one kiss became another and another. He tilted his head to a better angle, slanting his lips fully across mouth.

Cedric struggled against the instinct that told him to turn her round, to set her up on the table and burying his hands beneath her skirt. He fought against that instinct, trying to remember that this wasn't the Sofia from his dreams. She wasn't an wanton temptress who moaned for his touch, taking all he gave and begging for more. But when she parted her lips in shy invitation, he wasn't strong enough to resist the temptation of tasting her.

Images exploded across Cedric's mind: a barrage of kisses, some soft and innocent, most deep and intoxicating, all the ways he'd kissed her in his dreams. They didn't compare to the sweet realty of her soft lips and warm curves pressed up against him. A little moan of pleasure rose out of the back of her throat when she touched her tongue to his and his treacherous body reacted favorably to the sounds of approval and encouragement. His hands on her hips held her back from feeling the full measure of his desire and he chastised himself; she was an innocent, probably thinking this all terribly romantic, when all he could think about was easing her skirts up and her pantelettes down and showing her exactly how badly he wanted her. These delicious little torments were prizing him apart, dismantling his resistance.

He pulled back, easing her away at the same time. She tried to follow at first, flustered by her eagerness. She'd come here to confess her sins against him, not commit fresh ones.

She was breathing hard, her lips swollen and glossy, and it took everything in him not to dive back in for more. He grasped for some means of distraction. Anything. "Was- was there something you meant to tell me?"

"It's my fault, you see," she confessed in a hush, as if saying the words any louder would draw ruin down on her head. "The dreams of us, together, as- as lovers. I've been having them since Samhain, and I know-" she made herself continue, to speak the words, "I know you've had them too."

He stilled, an array of emotions crossing his face, flicking quickly from one to the next, never settling for long: Confusion, doubt, just a hint of fear. "Wha- how?"

She reached for her satchel, fumbling with the clasp with shaking hands. As she brought out Marla's handwritten copy, she said the only words she could think of that would encompass all the chaos of the past four nights, "A spell."

When she pressed the paper into his hand, he stared at it as if he'd never seen such a thing before. "Proffwydoliaeth spell ...," he muttered, eyes skimming over the words written before him.

She twisted her hands together, fighting the urge babble, to say anything and everything she could think to explain her behavior and actions. But she keep quiet, awaiting his reaction. As he read, he moved away, pacing about the room. He thought best on the move and she tried not to take it as a bad sign.

As he paced, he spouted out half-formed ideas. "But this is- That means- Great Goddess!"

His eyes continued to roam over the page and she suspected he was reading the spell over again, still not quite able to take it in. "I know you're probably confused-" He glanced up long enough to favor her with a withering look. "Very confused," she amended. "Feeling hurt and most likely betrayed, but I want you to know I didn't intend for any of this to happen."

He finally stopped, lowering the paper and closing his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose. "You are telling me, that these dreams that have been plauging me for four days, driving me to the brink of my sanity, are the result of, what, a Halloween prank?"

"No," she all but shouted. "Not that at all. When we cast the spell I thought only I would be affected. I was merely curious what my future held. Now I see I should not have dabbled as I did.

"No, you should not have."

She tried not to shrink back from his harsh tone. "I wanted to tell you, but I-," her cheeks flushed. She wished she hadn't worn such a thick brocade gown. It kept her warm in the chill autumn air, but now she began to sweat. "I tried last night, but I'd only just discovered that it was you. I suspected, I even hoped, but to _know_ was a different matter.

I didn't mean to for last night to happen. The dream, that is. I thought I could control them. But the spell was more powerful than I-" She stopped, because, no, she wouldn't make excuses. "I know I shouldn't have let anything happen."

"I think 'let' is a subjective term," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her flush darkened, remembering his murmured words from her dream. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his body language gave every indication that he was not please, but his tone suggested that he at least recognized in part that she was not solely at fault.

His throat bobbed when he swallowed. "This spell, exactly _how_ powerful is it? Have we actually been ..."

He couldn't seem to finish a thought, but she understood what he was implying, asking much the same as she had. "No, Marla, Lucinda's mom, said we were meeting in one of the dream worlds between the realms. That is to say, we haven't actually ... I mean, I'm still a-" She cut off abruptly, her cheeks flaming as she realized what she'd just alluded to.

He was looking at her rather intensely and she burned with more than embarrassment. "So that first dream, that's the first time you've ever ... experienced anything, like that?"

She lowered her lashes, offering a shy, "Yes."

"Merlin's Mushrooms," he muttered, rubbing his free hand over his face, "What an introduction."

"Merlin's mushrooms," she mused, laughing lightly, "is that what _ifreann diabhal_ means?"

He paled, patched of red brightening his cheeks. "No," he said firmly, "That is not what it means."

"What does it mean, then?"

"Something entirely more profane."

"Oh," she chewed on her lip, worried she'd offended him. "That's funny, I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Yes, well you hadn't been exposed to a lot of things before this spell of yours," he grumbled, making her flush all over again. She didn't doubt that he'd quickly grasp the nature of the situation, but to be suddenly of equal awareness was dizzying.

"So, you understand," perhaps if she could get him to talk to her, "What has been happening?"

"I understand I've been under the impression that I was losing my damn mind, and now I find its only my student playing at magic she doesn't understand and didn't bother to stop and think about the consequences of."

She cringed, stung by his harsh words. "But, do you understand what this means?"

His eyes bore down on her, their normally warm golden tones going flat and cool. The parchment crinkled in his hand, but he didn't say a thing.

Sofia licked her dry lips, finding her voice. "It's not just a spell meant to create the illusion of a dream, or even a connection. Its purpose is to prophesize the future. It means you're meant to be ... We're to be-"

"Married," he finished hoarsely. "How can that be me? I am entirely unsuitable for you. Surely, your parents would never-"

"Whomever I wish to marry, remember? That's what my mother and father said."

"Surely, their ideas of 'whomever' did not include me."

"Actually," she smiled and he looked at her like she'd lost her senses completely, "They had you in mind exactly. Lucinda assures me that it has been quite obvious to anyone with eyes that we were rather taken with each other long before this." She ducked her head. "That is, if you are, in fact, taken with me."

"I think that should be obvious by now," he grumbled, and his gruff confession sent her heart soaring. He raked a hand through his hair, unable to shake a strong feeling of discomfort. He didn't know why he was so angry, expect that it felt as if someone had cut open his chest and put his heart on display. His breath came out hard and short as he bit back the words he wanted to say, before realizing that apparently it didn't matter.

"Ifreann diabhal!" He snarled loudly, slamming the parchment down on the table. He bent over it, hands braced against the wooden surface. He discharged a few more choice profanities, if only because it felt good to loosen his control for a moment. "Máthair mac ifreann ar bastaird soith!"

Silent minutes ticked by before Sofia chanced a tentative, "There is one other thing ..."

"Of course there is," he laughed bitterly, making her fear she had done something irreversible to his sanity after all. Cautiously she retrieved her bag, drawing the remaining items.

"I had Marla copy down the counter spell. Originally she said it was up to me to decided whether to severe the connection between us, or use these items to reveal my identity to you and you to me."

"Why didn't you?" He wouldn't look at her though she standing right beside him.

"I couldn't." She dropped her head in shame. "I didn't know what I wanted. Then before I knew it, it was too late. The damage had been done." She set the candle and herbs down a top the second parchment. "I obviously can't be trusted to make the right decision. That's why, I'm leaving that to you."

His head jerked up, a look of bewildered shock on his face. "What?"

"I asked Marla to do whatever modifications were necessary so that you could be the one to work the counter spell. I may have betrayed your trust, Cedric, but want you to know that I do trust you."

He picked up the candle, running his thumb over the black craving. "Why do I get the feeling that you don't fully understand what this means?"

She frowned at that. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes."

Cautiously, she placed her hand over his. "Then I trust you."

If she'd been the one to betray him, to withhold secrets, then why did he feel as if he didn't deserve her trust. Somewhere he knew that while he might be upset with her now, he didn't think he could ever truly condemn her. If she said she didn't know the spell would affect him, then he knew it to be the truth. If she said she wanted to tell him but couldn't, that too was real. Her admission of trust left him torn between feelings of maligned dignity and sympathy for her obvious distress. She was as innocent as he suspected. She hadn't seemed virginal or unskilled in their shared dreams, but then dreams lent themselves to the loss of inhibitions. Some parts of their shared dreams would shock the most seasoned paramour; he could only imagine how she felt these past morning if she, like him, woke shivering and quaking with ecstasy

Thinking of her writhing in her bed, shocked awake by the intensity of the orgasms his dream-self had provided was not a good idea at the moment, and he tried to tell his treacherous member to stand down. Now was not the time.

"I know neither of us were ready for this," she sighed, "But here was are. If you find you cannot forgive me, then severe the link between us and end these dreams. And I promise we never need speak of it again. But if you want to give this, give _us_ a chance, as imperfect as the situation is, then come to me tonight, as yourself."

She didn't mean it to sound like a proposition, he knew, but that didn't stop his memory from recalling all the other ways he's come to her in her dreams.

"Fine," he nodded, not quite meeting her eye. "Now I think it is time for you to go and let me think on all this."

Though she nodded in understanding, he could almost feel her reluctance. She released his hand, gesturing timidly to the paper on his desk. "I promised Marla I'd-"

He picked up his wand and pointed. "Dóiteáin." The paper caught fire at once, the edges curling up and in on themselves. In moments there was nothing left but soot. A dramatic display, but not nearly enough destruction to sooth his agitation. "Happy?"

She wanted to tell him that no, she wasn't happy at all. But she knew that wasn't what he meant, so she simply nodded. She didn't want to leave, but nor did she want to push him any further. Not when they seemed to have reached some tentative accord. She was almost to the door when the last nagging notion finally won over. Now was not the best time, but she felt it couldn't- _shouldn't_ \- wait. She turned back to see him leaning on his hands, staring down at the second spell. "Just one thing more."

"What now?"

Those two bitten off words were nearly enough to send her scurrying away. But then she recalled yesterday in the graveyard. Cedric could have let her leave, walking off in an angry huff, but he didn't. He'd grabbed her by the arm, wrapping her in the comfort she needed in a moment of raw emotion. That's what love was, doing what was hard, not what was easy. Love was being brave. She approached him carefully, slipping her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. Encouraged, she rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"I meant what I said," she closed her eyes, willing herself to keep talking. She took a moment to make sure she got it right. "Is breá liom tú, Cedric."

She felt a shiver run through him. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. The seconds ticked on, feeling like torture to her tender nerves. Finally he lifted his arm, placing his hand over one of hers. There he threaded his fingers between the spaces of hers, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I just need some time."

She pressed her forehead into his back, trying to understand, to not feel hurt. Her voice only broke a little, "I know."

He lifted their joined hands, hesitating a moment before pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. She gasped, then shivered. Of course she knew Cedric was her lover from her dreams, but until that moment there had still been a divide between them. The austere, reserved mentor had yet to fully resembled the passionate, tender man at night. Now they meshed, making her feel weak with longing for more. But he needed time, space, and she was finally ready to give that to him. She had released control of the situation. The rest was for him to decide.

Reluctantly she slipped away, leaving him standing with his head bowed over the parchment, the herbs, and the twice carved candle.

* * *

Author's Note: I wish I could keep my promises about updates, but I've proven I can't be trusted. Sorry. :( I will try to get the next chapter out asap. Only two chapters left.

Please feed the starving author with many reviews!


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: Getting close to the finish. This one's for Pandaorama. Hope it helps you make it through. :)

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Twelve

* * *

 _I love you_

 _For the part of me_

 _That you bring out;_

 _I love you_

 _For putting your hand_

 _Into my heaped-up heart_

 _And passing over_

 _All the foolish, weak things_

 _That you can't help_

 _Dimly seeing there,_

 _And for drawing out_

 _Into the light_

 _All the beautiful belongings_

 _That no one else has looked_

 _Quite far enough to find._

-Roy Croft

* * *

Sofia woke to light painting the inside of her eyelids orange. The sun, she thought, realizing that the night had passed without bringing any dreams. She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to snatch a few moments more of denial; trying to pretend that Cedric hadn't abandoned her, severing their strange connection. Sadness sank into her bones as she tried to bury her face in the pillows.

Except her pillows seemed to be missing. She squirmed a little and discovered a few other things missing as well, like her entire bed. But she had gained more clothing. Beneath her fingers lay not the thin diaphanous silk of her night dress, but heavy velvet. Accustomed to the feeling, she recognized the squeeze and press of a gown with accompanying corset. Wiggling her toes, she felt the encasing of her kidskin boots.

Finally daring to open her eyes, she saw that the light came not from the sun, but from a bonfire towering with flames. She blinked, looking around. Out of doors, the sky lay dark above, the stars faintly visible beyond the reach of the fire. Beneath her a picnic blanket spread over the crest of a grassy hill. Samhain, she realized. Except there was no crowd of celebrating villagers milling about. There was no one at all. Nothing moved except the dancing flames. She was alone, except ...

She turned over, melting with relief. Cedric lay stretched out beside her, hands behind his head, elbows splayed wide.

He hadn't abandoned her after all.

This was a dream, but unlike the others, she knew exactly where she was, what was happening and why. The ground felt solid enough beneath her, but not cold or uncomfortable. She pillowed her cheek on her folded hands, taking a moment to examine him. As one the real Samhain, she wore her harvest gown of russet velvet, his yellow bow tied about her waist; he was dressed in his full sorcerer's robes, the orange bow she bought for him knotted at his throat. Feelings she'd long denied flowed through her as she took in the clean lines of his profile. It was easier now, admitting how dear he was to her.

"Cedric?"

"Hm?" He grunted.

She giggled, just as she had on the real Samhain. "Are you awake?"

He turned his head, opening his hazel eyes on her. They flared gold in the fire light, just as they had on Samhain night. "Yes, I'm awake."

This time his gaze sent a delightful shiver down her spine. She didn't know what to say, how to encompass her gratitude and relief. "You're here."

"I am."

This certainly wasn't like their other dreams. In other dreams she would have reached for him already, drawing his mouth against hers. Now she felt nervous, shy even. "Why here?"

He paused, looking up at the sky a moment. "This was the beginning, I think, of realizing my feelings for you. In the market when you put your fingers between mine, that was the moment I remembered that first dreams. Before that I couldn't recall anything about it."

Sofia made a soft noise of distress, only just appreciating how confused he must have been.

"But here," he was saying, "When the bonfires were lit and I looked over to find you lying beside me-" He swallowed, his throat bobbing, "Something just felt ... right. I didn't understand it then, what I wanted to do."

She couldn't help shifting towards him, whispering, "What do you want to do?"

He turned towards her again, his eyes focused on her, keen with wanting. She held her breath, awaiting his answer whether with words or actions. But he didn't move toward her as she hoped, instead he sat up and bracing his elbows on his bent knees. The taut set of his shoulders registered agitation.

She sat up slowly beside him. Though he was here, choosing to meet her, they were not of an accord yet. She settled in to wait, giving him the space she'd long denied to process his feelings. But as the moments rolled on, she felt she had to do something to break into the building silence. "Cedric ..." She reached out, intending to touch his face but he jerked away before she could. A sharp pain tightened her heart, and she let her hand fall.

He raked both of his hands through his hair, making a frustrated sound. "You don't love me," he finally said, with conviction. "You can't possible love me. You think you do, but you're mistaken."

"W- why would you think that? Haven't I given you every indication that my feeling are true?"

"I don't doubt you are feeling a great deal of things, Sofia." He wouldn't look at her, so she stared at his profile. "You said yourself, you've never experienced anything like these dreams, what they've entailed."

"You think," she said slowly, realizing, "That I'm merely enamored with the physical aspects?"

"You certainly wouldn't be the first person to mistake sex for love."

His callous tone chilled the blood in her veins. Uncertainty tightened her throat until she could barely make herself speak. "Are you saying that you don't love me?"

"I didn't say that," he whispered hoarsely.

"Then, what are you saying? What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"Look-" he began, then stopped. Sofia shifted closer, waiting to hear what he had to say, desperate to understand his denial of her feelings. "I have somewhat more experience with these matters than you. I've ... been with other women before."

Her eyes dropped down, and she plucked at a loose thread of the blanket. "I know that."

"Do you know, then, that I have never loved a single woman I've been with? And they certainly did not love me. I've been a means to an end before. An fantasy. I can't recall a time when I have been wanted merely for myself."

He fell into silence, and this time she let it lengthen, waiting until he felt compelled to fill it. She understood instinctively that this was a story he hadn't shared before, but needed to now.

"When I was younger," he said lowly, "I was merely the son of a famous sorcerer, expected to follow in his famous footsteps. It never took long for any girl to figure out that I was a disappointment in that regard. I wasn't going to be their ticket to a life as the pampered wife of a celebrity. Then, later, as Cedric the Sensational, at least that notoriety was my own, but by then I was the one disillusioned. I knew damn well what those women wanted. What they saw, and it wasn't me. They saw the pomp and the circumstance and the praise, they cared nothing for myself, only the dubious notoriety of bedding a name."

Sofia's lips parted in sympathetic pain, but she had no life experience to match against his in this arena, so she remained silent.

"There was a time," he grumbled bitterly, " When I was foolish enough to confuse lust for love, but I'm afraid I am too old to be that naive again."

She paused, wondering what she could say to make him believe her paltry declarations in the face of such a history as the one that forged him into the aloof, jaded man he was now. She had never stopped to think on how he might have been used in the past, how it mirrored her own actions, letting the spell go on even once she knew his identity, unable to deny herself his touch. Was she different from his lovers of the past? Was the physical what drew her to him? She knew the answer, but not how to convey the depth of her conviction to him. "It isn't naiveté," she said simply, "that makes me know that I love you."

He turned his head to her, a look of incredulous pain on his face, "What is it then? Do tell what it is you suddenly find so compelling in me that didn't exist until this spell of yours?"

"It did exist. Great Goddess, Cedric, why do you think I've never had any suitors? I may not have as much pride as Amber, but I do know that I possess some desirable qualities-"

He scoffed, but she forged on, ignoring the interruption.

"-And I am not unaware of the fact that several men have shown interest in me."

"I wasn't suggesting-" He blew a frustrated breath out through his nose. "I know that. I know you could have anyone you chose. That's my point exactly! I have nothing to offer, not compare to the dozens of suitors you must have only awaiting your command. I'm sure there's a veritable hoard of young men biting at the bit for you to notice them. I have nothing they do not. I'm not rich, or handsome, or noble-"

"Stop that! You have everything. Everything that I want, everything that I cherish. I care nothing for riches, you know that. Even if I never married, I'd have a dowery to make most kings jealous, so money is of no concern. And though I care for much more than external looks, I've alwasy found you very handsome. You just never allow me say it. And noble?" She laughed shortly. "Nobility is more than a title and lands. You are smart, and kind, and giving. You don't show your true self to many people, but I see it in your actions. You're patient when teaching, kind to those who need protection, and selfless to those you love and care about. Those are all very noble qualities to me."

Finally, she saw doubt begin to creep into his resolve. She kept on, chipping away at his walls.

"And if I can have any suitor that I want, why haven't I chosen, then? Why haven't I shown even the slightest interest in choosing? Because I don't care about any of them the way I care about you. I don't want anyone but you. I was too afraid to admit it before. Too afraid of rejection, of losing you. So I settled for friendship, until the spell forced me to see the truth." A tremulous look of hope and longing softened his features and she shifted closer to him. "Earlier when I said my parents had someone like you in mind for my future husband, I meant it. They had you in mind exactly. They told me I could choose whoever I deemed worth because they believed _I already had_. And they were right. I choose you, Cedric."

Her eyes darted to his lips and she leaned in to kiss him, but it was as if her eager movement startled some wild creature. His face hardened and he jerked his eyes forward, turning away. She wanted to scream at his resistance. Why did he find the truth so impossible to believe?

On her knees, she shuffled around in front of him. "Cedric?"

He stared resolutely ahead, not meeting her eye. If he wouldn't believe her words, then perhaps he'd believe actions. This dream wasn't like the others; there was no drowsy overlay of fantasy. Everything felt as real as if they were actually sitting outside on a hilltop at Samhain. She could even hear the crackling of the fire. Sitting forward, she reached towards him.

But before she could touch him, he grasped her wrists, fingers closing over the velvet of her sleeve. "Don't."

"Why not?" In his eyes she found a swirling mixture of desperate fear. "What are you so afraid of?"

Her eyes searched his, skipping back and forth between his gaze. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. She got the feeling there was nothing he could say in explanation, but the fear was plain for her to see. Every bone in her body ached to help him, to ease that pain. Carefully, deliberately, she bent her head forward, leaning into his hold. He stayed still, offering some small assurance that he'd no longer deny her touch. As her mouth hovered over his, she felt a sort of tingle that raised the hair along the back of her neck, like a spark of static about to discharge. Just as her lips connected to his, her eyes opened wide and she moaned helplessly.

Emotions sliced through her, overwhelming and alien. Feeling that weren't her own rolled over her in inexorable waves: anxiety, fear, a hint of panic, and somewhere behind, nearly smothered by the rest, hope. It was everything she'd felt the past four days as she came to terms with her feelings for him, but more. His feelings ran deeper. He'd had more life, more disappointments and deeply set fears to shape him.

She jerked back, leaning heavily on his grasp to support her. "What- What was that?"

"S-spell," he stuttered, only just regaining the ability to breathe himself.

This is what Marla had meant about revealing themselves. It hadn't to do with identity, or physical revelations, it was pure emotion, raw and exposed with no means of hiding. She had assumed Marla only meant they'd be known to one another, but wondered at the use of such a spell when she already knew Cedric to be the man from her dreams. The carved candle and herbs created a much different and deeper connection that she'd imagined. She felt everything, all his confusion, pain and hurt, but also other, more elusive emotions hiding behind the rest.

"I felt," she formed the idea as she said it, "What you feel? Does it work the same for you?"

His teeth clenched as he offered a strangled. "Yes."

"You knew, before you met me here, you knew what coming here would cost. We'd be revealed to each other, that's what Marla said. Nowhere to hide, our emotions completely exposed to one another. You can feel what I feel, but it goes both ways."

He licked his lips, nodding.

That he was here, despite his protestations, meant that he wanted to believe her. It was up to her to make him. To show him how she felt for him. The prospect was a little frightening, but then she'd never been one to shrink from a challenge.

Carefully she plucked her wrists from his grasp, instead holding his arms lightly. She licked her lips nervously, before angling her head forward again. He did nothing to stop her. This time just before she kissed him, she took a deep breath as if plunging into deep water. She touched him gently, whisper soft, this time opening herself as best she could, attempting to let his emotions in while projecting her own.

She closed her eyes, or rather they rolled back in her head, as she brushed her lips over his, filtering in the depth of his feelings for her.

* * *

Cedric feared his heart might finally succeed in its quest to bludgeon its way out of his chest. Even if his chest was only a metaphysical projection of his real self. He wasn't completely certain, what with the spell in place, that a heart attack here wouldn't translate to his physical self.

But the minor issue of his impending demise aside, tenacious Sofia was slowly worming her way through his defenses. She kissed him lightly, butterfly soft so as not to bombard either of them with raw emotion. In answer to his panic, he felt a surge of sympathetic pain, the edges softened with understanding. While she carefully dismantled his resistance, he finally began to relax, allowing her to slip between his knees as her hands moved up his arms to cup his neck. She did everything slowly, methodically, letting him process each action and decide to let it happen. When she angle her head to the side, finally sliding the full measure of her mouth against his, then desire began to thread its way through him.

Sensing the weakness in his defenses, she dared to part her lips, flicking her tongue out against his closed mouth. Cedric stiffened with the shock of it, because the gesture brought with it sparks of hunger, lust, but most prominently love. He let his resistance fall, drawing her closer, opening to her. His tongue slid against her in a slow waltz as she poured into him feelings of apology and remorse all wrapped around the golden warmth of her love. He groaned against her mouth, threading the fingers of one hand into her hair, touching her cheek with his gloved palm. Before he'd been afraid to know her true feelings, now he couldn't get enough of them. Her love washed over him like a balm. He couldn't stifle the helpless whimper that escaped him, knowing that she deeply and truly cared for him.

* * *

Sofia didn't so much as batter his defenses into submission as caress them, coming up against his walls and stroking them with her love until they melted like ice on a summer's day. She knew Cedric enough to know a full frontal assault wasn't the key to his undoing, so rather than lay siege, she cajoled his defenses into falling of their own accord. She was pleased at her success, but unprepared for the wave of pure emotion that poured over his crumbling ramparts like oil poured onto a fire. She whimpered at the intensity. Cedric loved like he made love: hard and deep and unrelenting. He took no prisoners, bartered no compromises, he loved her wholly and completely and she could feel his devotion pierce through her like a rod of steel, unbreakable. But somewhere through it all, she could still feel a sliver of hesitation, a thin thread of fear that she'd reject him, appalled by the sheer depths of his wretched need for her . She pressed back harder, tugging at the back of his neck, kissing him ferociously. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't appalled. She realized then what she needed him to understand, that they were the same, she loved him the way he loved her, altogether and completely.

The moment he understood, she felt him moan against her mouth.

Sofia tried to wiggle closer and he lifted her onto his lap, her knees hugging his hips. She knew that he could feel her approval as her desire built, mingling with excited curiosity. Lust began to grow, sprouting like seeds from their love. Fed from both end of their connection, it cycled between them in a feedback loop of want and desire. He continued to kiss her, never breaking that contact, even as she felt his hands fumbling beneath the layers of her skirts, seeking out skin to touch. With determination, he managed to work her skirt up around her waist. He finally broke the contact of their mouths, peppering kisses over her neck and the tops of her breasts while his thumb stroked her inner thigh. Sofia moaned in encouragement, raking her hands into his hair, fingernails scratching along his scalp. She felt a jolt of arousal from him at the maneuver.

His teeth nip over the swell of her breast and she moaned in dark approval. Her hips rocked against his lap, a devious thrill running through her to feel the physical evidence of his arousal as well as the emotion.

He drug his mouth away from the curve of her breast with effort, moving to capture her lips in another heated kiss. She clung to him, no longer in control, but a slave to the sensations rolling through her. The open, raw connection of their emotions contrasted sharply with their formal state of dress. Sofia could only run her fingers through his hair, or caress his face to touch his skin. His finger tips on her thigh left her trembling with the desire for more. She squirmed in her stiff, heavy gown, frustrated to be separated from him by so many layers of fabric. Cedric chuckled softly against her lips, feeling her dismay. His hands ran up her thighs to cup her mound through her under garments.

His finger teasing her through the damp silk of her drawers rendered her nearly insensible, but after denying him the previous night, she was in no mood to wait. "I want _you_ ," she whined.

She couldn't imagine how it would feel to be joined completely with him like this, feeling every emotion, every shift in sensation. She moved her hands down to work open the many layers of his clothing. When her fingers finally brushed across bare skin, she felt him fighting his own need. Her hand wriggled its way inside his pants.

He clamped a restraining hand over her wrist, forcing her to stop. "Wait," he growled.

She moaned, whining with unfulfilled need, and tried to move, coaxing him to complete this dark dance, knowing he could feel her desperation. Her own feeling were running wild. It was hard to speak around the chaos clashing inside her. "Please, Cedric."

He had to close his eyes against her pleading. "No, Sofia. Not like this, a ghrá."

She thrilled at the endearment. He kissed her cheek, then turned to whisper against her lips, "Teacht chugam."

"I don't und-"

Impatiently, he cuts her off with a short, hard kiss. In a husky growl, he pitched his voice into a command. "Come to me."

* * *

Sofia woke abruptly, alone in her own bed. A half-formed hope crossed her blurred mind, praying that the sun hadn't yet risen. The waning moon still sat high, spilling silver light across the floor. The night was not yet half gone. There was still time. Her whole body burned with unfulfilled need. The memory of Cedric's voice, commanding and intense and like nothing she'd ever heard from him before, sent a shiver coursing down her spine.

 _Come to me._

She was out of bed in an instant, racing for the door. Her bare feet echoed off the tiles as she flew down the hall. Almost to his tower, she skidded to a stop to see him striding down the stairs towards her. He was shirtless and barefoot, obviously coming straight out of bed like her. There she paused, breathing hard, marveling at the construct of his body. The inscriptions on each forearm, each bicep, and the circular patterns wrapping over each shoulder, took her breath with their dark allure against his pale skin. The moonlight polished him luminous, all the contrasts of light and dark blended beautifully in him.

With a gasping breath, she recovered her ability to move, rushing forward until they very nearly collided. His arms were about her at once without hesitation. One slung round her waist, while the other cradled her neck, pillowing her head when he cover her mouth with his own, kissing her hard. Sofia clung to him, feeling the slow burn that started in her belly and trail outwards, consuming her whole body. By the time he opened his mouth to slip his tongue between her lips, they were already parted on a low moan. Turning them both, he pressed her back against the wall, and she was grateful for its support as his tongue makes slow, slippery love to her mouth.

The shadowy realm of dreams couldn't compare to the substance of reality as one kiss melded into another, and another. His hands loosened their hold, roaming over her form, as if he couldn't quite decide where to touch her, because he wanted to touch her everywhere. First they slid down the sides of her neck, thumbs caressing the underside of her jaw, tilting her head for deeper possession by his mouth. Those hands graze her arms, gripped her waist before coming up to finally - _finally_ \- squeeze her aching breasts. She moaned into his kiss. He left one hand toying with her nipple while the other rounded curve of her bottom, hooking beneath her thigh to lift her leg and wrap it around his hip. She anchored her foot around the back of his knee, going weak when his hips rock between her own and she _felt him_.

The shock of it, the evidence of his desire for her, left her floundering a bit. Though she'd been with him in dreams, begging only moment ago for him to take her, reality felt like it was suddenly spinning out of control. The sound that rose from her throat was less a moan and more an overwhelmed squeak. Cedric backed off at once, looking into her face with tender concern. "What, Sóifia? Are you alright?"

"I'm- I'm fine," she managed to find her voice, "But perhaps we could go inside."

His lips thinned in self-reprisal, and he lowered her so she was standing again on both feet. "Of course," He took her hand in his, leading her up the stairs, past the gargoyles that had turned sinister in the low light. He shut the door behind them softly, never letting go her hand, even when he raised to other to brush her ringlets over her shoulder. He looked at her, a subtle question in his eyes. Sofia offered him a wavering smile.

Slowly, as if trying not to spook her, he leaned in. She swayed forward to meet him, this kiss somewhat more tame than the last. The fire in her belly roared to life and she dared to deepen their kiss, wrapping a hand around his neck to tug him closer. He moved easily, crowding close to her body again.

"Ahem!"

Sofia pulled back, her startled eyes going up to the rafters. Cedric didn't have time to ask what was the matter before she muttered, "Sorry, Wormwood."

The bird glowered down from his perch, favoring them both a reproving look. Cedric threw the raven a withering glance of his own. Sofia gave his hand a meaningful tug.

Just as Cedric lead her from the room, she heard the raven mutter, "About damn time."

* * *

Author's Note: I wasn't sure where to end this chapter. This chapter and the next and possibly the one after that, all kind of blur together. Chapter 13 will be out shortly.

Reviews, pretty please. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: In this chapter you're going to get to a part where there is quite a bit written in Irish without any translation to follow, and you're going to really want to know what is being said. Fear not, keep reading and when you get to Cedric's part, he'll say the whole thing over in English.

So excited for my new Author's avatar. It's a picture drawn by H. Mae inspired by my writing and Jess Deaton's artwork. :D

Some reminders to make this chapter easier to read:

a ghrá - _my love_

ifreann diabhal - what Cedric says when he curses, closest translation is _fucking hell_

Sóifia - pronounced _So-eh-fee-ah_

Cédric - pronounced _Ceed-rick_

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Thirteen

* * *

 _Sweet are pleasures after pains,_

 _Lovers do not break your chains._

 _Trails though you may endure,_

 _Happiness they will ensure._

 _Sweet are pleasures after pains,_

 _Joy from sorrow luster gains._

 _-The Green Serpent, a fairy tale_

* * *

She blushed, realizing even Wormwood had know before they did. By the time they were finally alone, shut away in Cedric's room, recognizing the rounded out wall and high set window from one of their dreams, she found it in her to giggle. So much for passion, real life was proving somewhat less cooperative than their dreams. Cedric took a deep breath, seeming to master himself as he rubbed the tense muscles along his neck. Sofia took a moment to look around. The room was as she imagined it would be, with books and odd bits or arcane debris littering every surface, including the familiar carved candle and a burnt bundle of herbs. She didn't take any of it in detail as her attention was grabbed by an old-looking ornate bed with a heavy head and foot board. It wasn't as large as the bed in her suite, but certainly large enough. The bedding was rumpled and she drifted over, unable to resist sitting down and running her hands over the sheets. They were still warm.

Goosebumps prickled the back of her neck. She looked up to find Cedric watching her with darkened eyes. She slid him a lopsided smile, patting the space beside her in invitation. When he pushed off the door, walking towards her in what she could only call a saunter, her mouth dried up. He didn't sit beside her, though. He knelt on the floor in front of her, laying his head in her lap. Instantly, she ran her fingers through his hair. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I should not have asked you to come here."

Her fingers stilled. "What?"

He blew out a breath that shivered all through his body and his arms tightened around her waist. "I want you. Great Goddess, how I want you."

"I want you too," she confessed in a hush.

"But ... you're a maiden, yes?"

"Yes," she flushed, "I've never ... Except in our dreams, that is."

He turned his face against her lap, and she tensed to feel the hotness of his breath against her thigh. "If we're truly to be married, " his words mumbled against her lap, "then it would be best to wait." He lifted his head, looking at her. "You deserve better than a quick tumble in the dark, Sofia. You deserve a proper proposal, the white dress, the church wedding, the whole blasted affair complete with an unsullied wedding night. You deserve better than me, but apparently if I am what you are going to get, then at least let me do this part right."

His eyes implored her. The spell of their dream was done, she could no longer simply lay her hands against his skin to feel his emotions, but she felt his love all the same and answered with her own, speaking through her soft gaze and hands that soothed over his shoulders.

"So if we're to be married," she pushed lightly against him, making him sit back on his heels. She slid down to the floor, kneeling before him as well. Her lips quirked into a coy smile. "Is this you proposing to me?"

She could hear him gulp. "If- if you want me to."

"I don't want you to feel you have to-"

"No," he interrupted her, cupping a hand to her cheek. "No, I want to. It's just strange. If anyone had told me five days ago that I would be proposing marriage to you, I would tell them they were mad. But," his eyes searched hers, imploring her to understand. She set a hand gently over his. "I've never been so _sure_ of anything before. I would not have believed it possible."

Tears glazed her eyes, and she favored him with a watery smile, holding her breath.

"Mo Sóifia, a ghrá, beidh tú gealltanas do chroí, do shaol, do ghrá dom, mar is féidir liom tú, don chuid eile de ár lá? _(My Sofia, my love, will you pledge your heart, your life, your love to me, as I do you, for the rest of our days?)"_ He took a shaking breath, knowing she didn't understand, but the ancient pledge couldn't be said in any other language. For her benefit, he said, "Sofia the First, Princess of Enchancia, will you marry me?"

There was no hesitation before she threw her arms around him, mashing her lips to his. "Yes! Of course yes. But," she leaned back, "How do I answer the first part? I know there's more."

He swallowed thickly. "I can tell you the words to repeat, but if you do ..."

"If I do ..." she prompted him to finish.

"In times long before now, all that was needed to join one magic handler to another was a pledge. No church, no dress, no party with a cake and family and friends. Just two people making a vow to each other."

He ducked his head, and she understood. To his ways, his family and "people" for lack of a better term to encompass the massively divergent clans of magic handlers, they'd be married, bonded for life. She was glad that her libido had had time to quiet down, and she knew it wasn't lust that drove her to say, "Tell me the words to say."

"Are you sure?"

She caressed his face, nodding with conviction.

He took hand from his face, turning it over to kiss her palm before he pressed it flat to his chest, over his heart. Then he placed his hand over her heart. "Just repeat these words," he took a wavering breath. "I, Sóifia, ngeall mo chroí, mo shaol, mo ghrá a thabhairt duit Cédric. ( _I, Sofia, pledge my heart, my life, my love, to you Cedric._ )"

Her right brow rose with amused disbelief. "Seriously? Cédric?"

He scowled at her and she rearranged her face into a more serious form, though a smile still played around her lips. Haltingly she repeated the words. When she faltered he helped her patiently through. Under her palm she could feel his pulse quicken.

He spoke again the strange lilting language, "Tóg an neart mo chroí ionas nach gá mise bhraitheann brón."

With each word her accent and ease with the dialect became stronger. She still didn't understand, only recognizing a word or two, still unsure their meaning, but the beat of his heart beneath her palm and the reserved light of devotion, almost veneration in his eyes assured her that every word meant the world to him and that sentiment she understood completely.

"Comhroinn ar an lá de mo shaol mar sin go bhfuil a lán riamh a fhios mise uaigneas."

By the third vow, because she could recognize them as such, she faltered as her breath caught. He placed his other hand over hers where it lay on his chest, rubbing reassuringly with his thumb. She did the same to the hand on her chest, managed her way through. Tears filled her eyes and she hope there wasn't much more because she'd be unable to speak before long.

"Almost over, a ghrá." Cedric's own eyes glazed and he looked fit to cry himself. "Féach ar an doimhneacht de mo ghrá mar sin riamh gá duit amhras mo deabhóid. Seo gealltanas mé. Bealtaine na réaltaí a na flaithis sula bhfuil mé as dhuit."

He had to help her several times towards the end, his own voice going tight. Sofia looked at him, a question in her eyes as the tears finally spilled out, running down her cheeks. "Don't worry, you did great, love. Now it's my turn."

"Wait," she stopped him before he began. "I love your language. It's beautiful, but can you possibly say it so I can understand, please?"

"I think an exception can be made, yes." He nodded, giving her that lopsided smile that made her heart flip over. "I, Cedric, pledge my heart, my life, my love, to you Sofia. Take the strength of my heart so that yours need never feel sorrow. Share the days of my life so that yours may never know loneliness. Trust the depths of my love so you need never doubt my devotion. This I pledge. May the stars be torn from the heavens before I am parted from thee."

By the time he finished, she was crying in earnest. "Please tell me I can kiss you now."

"Yes," he laughed and it was the purest sound of joy she had ever heard him make.

She was on him at once, trapping their joined hand between them. Her kiss was firm but sweet. It was a perfect moment that she never could have imagined or foreseen, but was fiercely grateful to be a part of. A garish castle wedding was surely required, but that would be Amber's affair, one where Sofia was merely a player in her part as the bride. But here, married in the middle of the night, just the two of them, that was all she needed. The kiss ended nearly as abruptly as it began, but Sofia didn't mind as Cedric seemed to be struggling to hold himself together.

"There are other things," he cleared his throat, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. "But none at that needs to be addressed this very moment. Though, I have a proper ring for you, if you'd like that now."

"A ring?" Her nose crinkled. "How do you have a ring if you didn't expect you'd be married?"

"It's a family heirloom. Belonged to my mother's mother."

"Oh," she replied softly, her eyes filling again. "I'd like that, but you don't have to get it now. I'm afraid if you do I'll never stop blubbering."

He picked up the corner of the sheet, the nearest thing in reach and wiped her cheeks. "You look radiant, even while you blubber."

With her tears dried, she looked up at him through her lashes. It was as if her body suddenly remembered why she'd come here to begin with. "So," she reached out to stroke a hand down his chest, letting her fingers trail lower. "If we're married, that makes _this_ our wedding night."

A spark ignited in his eyes. A quick intake of breath set the muscles beneath her fingertips quivering, but with the patience befitting a saint, he held himself still. That constrained energy sent a throb racing through her for what was to come, how she _knew_ it would be. Drifting her eyes up over his chest to his face, there she finally saw the intensity that she'd become accustomed to in her dreams. The dark desires lurking beneath his green flecked eyes awoke an answering heat in her own gaze. He reached for her, tangling his hands in her hair as he drew her forward, pressing their whole bodies together. Her hands came up on instinct, clutching, but there was nothing to hold except him. She could feel the heat of his skin through her thin night rail.

She whimpered into their kiss, because despite his hunger for her, the kiss was tender and slow, full of passion and grace. It deepened and stretched, seducing her with its delicate promises of the tender desire to follow. He got to his feet, drawing her with him, never breaking the contact of their lips.

He eased back from her mouth, breathing hard. "It won't be like in our dreams, love. Not for you, not this first time."

She licked her lips, searching his worried eyes. "I- I know that. It's okay. I want to."

He kissed her again, but she could feel a tension running through him. "We'll go as slowly as you need."

His promise made her shiver. She kissed him back, trying to impart desire as well as comfort. She wanted him, more than she feared any pain. She stroked his chest, leaning into him to convey her eagerness. It seemed to work, as he drew her fully into his arms. Her hands flowed down his chest, around his narrow waist, clutching at his back.

His hands stayed tangled in her hair but she was dying to feel them everywhere. "My nightgown," she mumbled against his lips, "Please, I want it off."

His hand brushed down her neck, drawing the strap of her shift off one shoulder. He kissed the skin that was revealed, before moving to do the same to the other. Sofia slipped her arms out, trembling as the silky fabric slithered to the floor. Suddenly she found it difficult to look at his face, nervous of what he would think of her. She stared resolutely at his chest, blushing.

"Ag an bandia, tá tú álainn ( _By the Goddess, you are beautiful_ )," he whispered. His hands touched carefully at her waist drawing her near. He kissed her temple. "Foirfeacht ( _Perfection_ )."

She tittered nervously. "You know I can't really understand a thing you're saying, right?"

He kissed her cheek. "All good things, my love."

 _My love_. Sofia melted against him, humming with contentment. She was his love. His wife. And soon to be his lover. With kisses and coaxing caresses he eased her back onto the bed, helping her lie against the pillows. She gulped, not sure what to do. In the dreams it had been so easy, she'd taken what she wanted, no stab of nerves to stay her hands. Now she wasn't sure what to expect, lying frozen, letting him guide her. Cedric lay down beside her, letting his hand trace lazy trails over her skin. He was going slowly, indeed, but she didn't mind as her nerves were being overtaken by desire. He hadn't touched any of the places that called for his attention to most, and his coy avoidance - skating close to, but not over her nipples, or near her inner thigh, but not yet touching the curls that dampened there- only heightened her desire. And all throughout he kissed her _thoroughly_.

At this rate she couldn't take much more of his teasing. "Cedric," she groaned in distress, "Please."

"Please, what, love?"

"Please, _touch_ me."

She could feel his smile against her lips. "I am touching you."

"But not where I want you to," she growled.

He chuckled, kissing a slow trail to her ear. "And where would that be? Here?"

His fingers grazed her nipple and she gasped at the zing of sensation that shot through her.

"And here?"

He reached across to palm her other breast, this time pinching the nipple gently between his fingers.

"Ah! Yes, there."

He took the edge of her ear between his teeth, nibbling lightly as his tongue caressed the rim. His hand worked her breast, kneading the soft flesh, his clever fingers plucking at her nipple until she was squirming and crying out against him. Her thighs clenched and she felt the building warmth of an orgasm that danced just out of reach.

"Or perhaps you meant," his hand left her breast to trail downward. Her legs fell open, eager for him. He wove his fingers through her curls to touch her bare folds. "Here."

She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes pressing closed and her lips parting in wonder at the delicious, foreign sensation of his fingers stroking her most vulnerable and sensitive part. Heat raced up her belly, flashing through her breasts. She turned her head, blindly seeking the comfort of his mouth to anchor her. Embarrassing sounds escaped her throat, escalating from whimpers to piteous cries while his fingers drew tight circles around the sensitive hooded bud. She began to shake.

Cedric pulled away from their kiss to watch her come undone from his touch. Witnessing her unabashed surrender to the sensations he provided was nothing short of magical. While she trembled in the aftermath, he pivoted his hand downward, sliding a finger into her warmth.

Sofia made a strangled noise of surprised enjoyment. Cedric felt an answering excitement course through him as he stroked his wife's untried body, slowly coaxing her to relax and accept the pleasure he was providing. This achingly slow pace tested every limit of his patience, but he was in no hurry if it meant less discomfort for her in the end. He stroked his finger in and out of her slick heat, his passage ease with each thrust. Sofia's husky moan dared him to try for more. He withdrew before coming back to ease two fingers inside her. Her contracting muscles gave a warning squeeze, as she made a troubling whimper. He leaned down over her, adding the sensation of his mouth at her breast to distract her.

Sofia warmed quickly to this new touch, murmuring as tiny convulsions rippled through her, washing his unerring fingers in searing heat. His mouth at her breast lent a shocking pleasure, the sensation every changing as he sucked, swirling his tongue around and over her nipple. She rocked up against him, arching her back and pressing her hips deeper into his hand. Writhing against the sheets, she lost all rational thought, becoming a mindless creature of desire. The sensations combined, each feeding the other like dry kindling thrown on a bonfire. When Cedric switched to her other, unattended breast she cried out, clenching and fluttering around his fingers.

Cedric released her reluctantly. He wanted to do more to prepare her but he'd reached the bounds of his patience. He ached for her, needing to be inside her, to be one with his love, his heart, his wife. He moved away only long enough to divest himself of his pants.

His hand went back between her legs, this time stroking to spread the honeyed essence that would ease his passage. Sofia reached between them, her curious fingers brushing over his throbbing erection. She barely grazed him before he moved away. "Sorry, love, but I don't think I can handle you touching me just now." His strained smile suggested chagrin. "I doubt I'll last as it is."

"Oh," she blushed with understanding, "When was the last time you ..."

"Was with someone?" He finished for her, and she nodded. He had to think on it a moment. "About two years."

"Oh. Why so long? Er, is that long? I don't really know." She trailed off in an embarrassed mumble.

His stomach jumped under her hands as he laughed. "It's _feels_ long. But it didn't have to be so long as that. I chose to," he paused, considering his words, "be alone for a while."

"Why?" Sofia blinked, panting because he was still touching her and it was hard to concentrate, "Did something happen?"

"No, not that I can think of. Just-" He stopped, frowning in thought. "Actually, it was right about the time of your eighteenth birthday. I hadn't thought of that before."

She raised a brow, smirking. "Been saving yourself for me, have you?"

He looked at her seriously. "Perhaps I was."

A nervously thrill raced through her at his serious expression. Silence fell between them and she wasn't sure what to do, how to move from this moment to the inevitable next. The desire coursing through her made her feel a little bold. "I-," she confessed in a halting whisper, stroking a hand over his chest, "I rather liked that first dream. The one where you were behind me."

He dropped his forehead against her shoulder, groaning. His slick fingers pressed over her bud. "So did I, love, but not this time."

She sucked in a sharp breath, arching. "Why not?"

He trailed hungry, open mouthed kisses against her shoulder. His erection pressed into her hip. "Some other time, I promise, but not now. It wouldn't be comfortable for you. I would only hurt you more than necessary."

Sofia blushed, remembering how she'd felt on her knees, as he sank his hips deeply against hers, stretching her. "Alright. How then?"

"You remember the woods?"

"Y-yes."

"I think it would be best if you were on top. I-" his voice shook, "I want you so badly, I don't wish to hurt you."

Sofia flushed scarlet, but acquiesced with a nod. He took his hand away, helping her move into place, straddling his lap. She leaned down close to him, hiding her breasts against his chest.

"Raise up a little." He rasped against her cheek. He reached a hand between them, then she felt the heat of his tip positioned at her entrance. His other hand stroked her back. "Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes, trying to remember to breath. He held himself steady in hand as she lowered down, gasping as her inexperienced body tried to accommodate him.

"That's it, love," he whispered, his voice straining. "Díreach mar sin. ( _Just like that._ )"

She bit her lip, cringing as the feeling of being stretched began to burn. Try as she might she couldn't hide the whimper that caught in her throat. Cedric kissed her cheek and she turned her head to offer him her lips instead. She needed him to comfort her. She thought she was doing alright, withstanding the pain, until her trembling legs gave and she slipped further down. The pain became unbearable all at once. She tore her mouth away with a short, sharp cry.

"Maith dom, a ghrá ( _Forgive me, my love_ ). Is the pain so bad?"

"It's alright." She trembled on top of him, trying to regain her breath. "I'll be fine in a moment."

Cedric held her tightly, one hand rubbing the base of her skull while the other continued to stroke her back.

Carefully she tested a slow drag of her hips upwards before settling back down. The path of him wedged tightly inside her burned like fire. No, this wasn't like their dreams at all, but she didn't dare demand they stop, not when she'd come this far. Shifting around, she tried to find a comfortable rhythm. With each pass the pain receded, lessening to a throb that she could withstand, but enjoyment was a long way from her mind.

The hand on her back moved to her thigh, his grip firm. She dared to raise up a little, looking down on his face. His brows were drawn together, the corners of his mouth tight with restrained pleasure. She tested another roll of her hips, making him groan. His eyes fluttered open, their depths darkened to amber honey. He tangled his fingers in her hair.

"Ifreann diabhal," he groaned deep in his throat, "bhraitheann tú iontach ( _you feel amazing_ )."

She found it in her to smile, getting used to the fact that sometimes he would babble things she didn't understand. But the look of wonder in his eyes said all she needed to know. She no longer felt scared, held down by pain, she felt beautiful and powerful. Her hips began to rock with a firm, steady rhythm that had them both gasping. He began to move up against her, unable to resist any longer. Even so, Sofia knew he being gentle on her account, unwilling to pursue a pace that would satisfy him. This time when she leaned down to kiss him, the rasp of her nipples against his chest shot sensations of dark pleasure rippling through her.

"It's alright, Cedric," she murmured against his lips. She struggled to recall the words he'd said to her often enough in their dreams. "You don't have to hold back for me. Teacht go dtí mé, a ghrá ( _Come for me, my love_ )."

He growled, kissing her fiercely. His hand tightened over her thigh as his pace increased. She knew she'd be sore come morning, but that hardly mattered; discomfort wasn't something she couldn't endure, and she was no stranger to aching muscles. This was just a different kind of trial; a rite of passage that she was honored to share with him. She braced her hands against his chest, giving herself over to the hard, pounding rhythm.

Cedric tried to keep some semblance of sanity as Sofia offered up her virgin body to his whims. She no longer whimpered in pain, but neither did she buck and moan in ecstasy. Perhaps it was the best that could be hoped for given the situation, but he threaded his fingers between their bodies nonetheless, finding the hooded nub of her clit and stroking it until she began to shake, her thighs tightening around his hips. His other hand held the back of her head, guiding her into a kiss that seared down to his very soul. She clenched around their intimate connection, and it was all the catalyst he needed. He surged with long denied rapture, bucking up against her.

Pleasure thrilled through her. Not the full bodied enjoyment of an orgasm, but a tantalizing preview of her future. Cedric's fingers stilled against her as he pulsed enticingly inside her. His face twisted in a looks of pleasure so severe it seemed almost painful. To see him rendered so completely open and vulnerable before her filled her with a kind of wonder. As he fell lax beneath her, she rested her head on his chest, awed by his trust in her.

Still fighting for breath, he stroked a tender hand down her back. "Are you alright, a ghrá?"

She sighed in absolute contentment. "I'm amazing."

* * *

Author's Note: I have got to tell you, I am pretty proud. I wrote those wedding vows myself. Make me want to get married all over again. :)

So this is essentially the end story-wise, but I have another chapter and an epilogue just for fun. :)


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Had to let my brain work out exactly where I wanted to go for the end of this story and beyond. :)

This information will make sense as you read:

Sióg - Fairy (The band of Sofia's ring is made from fairy silver, which is very strong and never tarnishes or scratches.)

Bolcán - Volcano (I came up with my own back story that Bolcán is a lost civilization, a cross between Atlantis and Pompeii. An island city that sunk into the sea after a massive volcanic eruption. Their diamonds shine like fire when the sun hits them.)

Necullum - Nec ullum means not blooded in Latin. In this context it means "not of the blood" or "not of magical blood". Someone not born of a magic-handling family line.

* * *

Lover Mine: Chapter Fourteen

* * *

I love your lips when they're wet with wine

And red with a wild desire;

I love your eyes when the lovelight lies

Lit with a passionate fire.

I love your arms when the warm white flesh

Touches mine in a fond embrace;

I love your hair when the strands enmesh

Your kisses against my face.

Not for me the cold, calm kiss

Of a virgin's bloodless love;

Not for me the saint's white bliss,

Nor the heart of a spotless dove.

But give me the love that so freely gives

And laughs at the whole world's blame,

With your body so young and warm in my arms,

It sets my poor heart aflame.

So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,

Still fragrant with ruby wine,

And say with a fervor born of the South

That your body and soul are mine.

Clasp me close in your warm young arms,

While the pale stars shine above,

And we'll live our whole young lives away

In the joys of a living love.

-Ella Wheeler Wilcox

* * *

Cedric yawned and shook his head trying to clear out some of the grogginess before climbing the ladder. More sleep would have been nice, but he certainly wasn't complaining. The choice between an uninterrupted night of sleep and one where he got laid was an easy one. But then, last night hadn't been the usual one-night stand that saw him gone by morning. For the first time in thirty five years he hadn't slept alone. He assumed sharing a bed would feel intrusive and uncomfortable, but as usual Sofia proved contrary to his assumptions. When he woke, knowing instinctively with the internal clock of a true insomniac that dawn was close, he struggled to drag himself out of the warm cocoon of blankets and Sofia's loose embrace.

When he did slip from the bed, wriggling carefully out of her arms, he couldn't help smiling down at her. His wife was utterly fucking adorable when she slept.

 _His wife_.

Sofia was his wife.

He paused on the ladder, resting his forehead against one of the rungs. For a moment panic assailed him, making him question what he'd done. A fine tremble shivered through him as uncertainty sank down to his bones. He'd married a princess in the dark of night, secret and subversive as always. She deserved so much better, but it couldn't be helped now. But fear of her family's reaction, not to mention his, wasn't all that tightened his throat now.

Something was ... _off_. He hadn't sensed it last night because, well there had been a lot going on. But on reflection he realized that ever since their last dream, the one where he'd performed that witch's spell, linking their emotions, he had a sort of extra sense of Sofia. A sense that wasn't right, because there was no way it should exist. He tried not to dwell too much on it, deeming it simple residual transference from the candle spell. It had to be because the alternative was too distressing to contemplate. Not to mention, supposedly impossible.

As if a reminder, just then a spike of awareness shot through him, bringing confusion, momentary alarm, then understanding followed by warm contentment. For a moment it was all he could do to keep breathing through the confusing array of emotions that didn't belong to him. Sofia was awake. She'd discovered him gone and he had no doubt she'd be out presently to look for him. Drawing on years of schooling and practice, he marshaled himself, finding the still, calm center where his magic resided, forcing her emotions to fade.

He continued climbing. Empathy wasn't a strong suit of his, and he only given sympathetic magic a cursory read; just enough to pass that portion of his sorcery finals in school. Thankfully, this new awareness wasn't constant, just flickers that came unbidden and unexpectedly. Last night he hadn't recognized his heightened sense of her for what it was. Sofia didn't seem to be aware of it, but then she wasn't a natural born magic handler. Perhaps there'd be no residue at all if she'd been the one to perform the counter-spell. But by working that magic himself he'd tied himself that much tighter to her, adding strength to the threads she'd woven with her premonition spell. And now that they'd taken the vows ...

A non-magic person, a _necullum_ , as his parents would unkindly say, would call them married, but it was more layered than that. Bound was a more accurate description. It all lent a worrying consideration that perhaps this new sense was permanent after all.

He heard a slight sound behind him and turned carefully, hooking one arm around the rung of the ladder to assure he didn't slip. It turned out to be a wise maneuver because when he caught sight of Sofia emerging from his chambers wearing nothing but his shirt, he nearly fell. He forgot all about his worry as he took in the vision she presented. The old green shirt had certainly never looked so enticing on him. She'd buttoned it low in the front, giving him a peak of her delicate cleavage and the tails stopped just sky of her knees, leaving a scandalous amount of leg visible. Of course, his mind went immediately to the hope that she'd forgone any undergarments.

She looked up and saw him. When she smiled, he found himself unable to resist grinning back. "You're awake," he said, though he already knew, "I was going to wake you once I was done here."

Sofia squinted up, obviously wondering why he was poised on the ladder over a blank space of wall instead of a bookshelf. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see." He took his wand in one hand and drew it across the palm of his other, hissing, then he placed his palm against an ordinary looking piece of brick. The stone wavered like a mirage and disappeared, revealing a hidden cubby hole. Cedric reached inside, drew out a box, and began climbing down. By the time Sofia looked back, the brick was in its place like it had never been gone at all. He set the box on his work bench, holding his fist tightly closed. A bead of blood ran out, sliding down his wrist.

"Oh Cedric, what have you done?"

"Necessary, I'm afraid. Retrieving the family codex required blood proof."

She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. Blood spells were one of her least favorite types of magic. They always seems rather dark and morbid to her. Still, she peered at the ornate, antique box, curious despite herself. He held his hand over it, letting his blood fall onto the lid. Like the brick, it wavered and vanished.

"Is that all the blood that's required?" Without asking she took up his bleeding palm in one hand and his wand in her other. He let her, knowing she excelled far better at healing spells than he ever had. Her concern for him was as warming as the spell tickling over his injured hand. He leaned in, unable to resist planting a kiss to her temple.

"There," she surveyed her work, nodding in approval. "Now what was so important that you had to maim yourself for it."

"I'm far from maimed."

"Well, forgive me if I suddenly find myself very protective of your person. I have a vested interest in keeping you whole and sound."

He shook his head at the coy smirk on her lips, finding it difficult to take his eyes from the engaging sight of her wearing nothing but his shirt. He reached inside the ancient box, pulling out a small pouch. From inside that he drew a ring of shimmering metal. The color suggested silver, but the shine was far brighter. He picked up her left hand, his own only shaking a little as he slipped the delicate band onto her finger.

A cool spiral of magic whispered over her skin before settling down, as if the ring were making its acquaintance with her. Sofia's lips parted in awe. When he mentioned a family ring, she thought of something, for lack of a better word, cruder. She would have loved any ring, she just hadn't expected it would be so delicate and _expensive_ looking. Having it on her hand made her feel a little nervous.

"Don't worry," Cedric drawled, as if reading her thoughts. "You can't hurt it. It's made from Sióg silverite, and those stones are Bolcán diamonds."

"Bolcán?" Her eyes widened as she stared into the three oval gem stones, a slightly larger one in the center of two smaller ones. At first they appeared as regular diamonds, clear and sharp, but in the light they reflected shades of red, orange and purple in their depths, like dancing fire. "As in the fabled city of Bolcán, that disappeared over a thousand years ago?"

He simply nodded as if such things were an everyday occurrence. "Mm-hmm."

"Cedric! This ring must be worth a fortune. Even if I can't damage it, what if I lose it or it's stolen, or something like that?"

He dismissed all she said with a wave. "It's enchanted, of course. If it's lost it will simply return into you possession. Besides, it's not as if it has any power, all it does is look pretty," he said, obviously unimpressed by such baubles.

"But what if it's stolen?"

The look he gave her then sent a shiver down her spine. A not so nice shiver. "That," he said slowly, "You probably don't wish to know. Suffice to say theft is not a concern either."

She gave the trinket a dubious glance.

"It won't hurt you," he chuckled.

"No, just other people apparently. It does know the difference between true theft and some overzealous manhandling, right? I'd hate to think what will happen to Amber if it doesn't."

"It's not as sentient as your amulet, but fear not, no harm will come to anyone you give permission to hold or even wear it. Even if they simply forgot they had it on, it will only reappear on your finger."

"That's a relief. What else is in the box?"

He took out a dark book, the cover frayed at the corners and the gilt of the pages worn away. When he handed it to her, its weight felt far denser than its size. She hopped up on the work bench, sitting with the book in her lap. Inside she found line upon line of foreign symbols. "Is this -"

"The family codex? Yes." He sat down on the stool in front of her. Flipping through the pages, he thumbed to the end. "See, here is the code key. Learn this and you'll have access to the entire history of my family's spells."

"And understand all the things you mutter in bed?" She smirked.

"Thousands of years of spell work in your hands, and that's what you're worried about?"

She set the book carefully aside, turning back to eye his naked chest. "Mm-hmm," she drawled, mimicking him from earlier.

Her arousal rolled over him in a soft wave, making his breath catch. These unexpected spikes of awareness left him disoriented, making it hard to distinguish her emotions from his own. But at the moment he wasn't inclined to care. She bit her lip when he stood up, moving between her parted knees and leaned in to kiss her. He made quick work of the few buttons she'd done up on his shirt, parting the well-worn material. Sofia wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her bared chest to his as their kisses grew bolder.

"Wait." He canted his head back and away, reaching behind her for his wand. He pointed at the garish portrait of his mother and father hanging on the wall, commanding, "Sigillum effigies ( _Seal portrait_ )."

"Good idea. I'd never be able to look at either of your parents again if they choose now for a visit." Sofia cheeks reddened just thinking on it. "Wait, where's Wormwood?"

Cedric was already leaning back in to taste her lips again. "I kicked him out when I got up, just in case." He smirked. "I must confess after that kiss yesterday, I couldn't get the image of having you on this very table out of my head."

"Mmm," she scooted forward, pressing her open thighs against his groin. "Far be it for me to deny such a fantasy."

She leaned in to kiss him, but he held back. This new, erratic empathy didn't tell him everything. "Are you not ... sore from last night?"

"A little, but nothing too uncomfortable." He seemed unconvinced, so she peppered his lips with little, teasing kisses. She wanted him, and by the goddess she was going to have him. "Please Cedric. My love. My husband."

The last one got him. He growled low in the back of his throat, finally kissing her. Really kissing her. His hands dove inside the shirt, framing her waist before moving up to massage her breasts. Sofia moaned as the now familiar sensation of arousal built between her legs. For all his growling Cedric was still careful with her, teasing her lips with long, slow, seductive kisses, handling her breasts with languid caresses that had her squirming against him, trying to rub against the stiffening evidence of his own arousal to obtain some relief.

He grasped her behind each knee, pulling her hips forward to cradle his aching erection. Great Goddess, she felt fantastic, even with the thin fabric of his pants separating her heat from his. She braced herself on her hands, leaning back to better grind against him. His shirt slipped off one shoulder and he broke their kiss to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She gave a high pitched gasp and another flush of arousal crash through him.

" _Cedric-"_

He scraped his teeth ever so gently over the sensitive bud, knowing he'd never tire of hearing her groan his name in that half-strangled, needy way. With what little sense he could muster, he pulled away. As much as he wanted to take her right here, a table wasn't the best place for her just now. "Come on, back to bed with you."

"But-"

"The table came wait, a ghrá. Another time, I promise."

She favored him with a pouting look, but with very little conviction to it. Hopping down off the table, she appeared unaware of how the action made her breasts bounce enticingly. He followed her swaying figure back to his room, stopping occasionally to kiss or touch her, pressing her against the wall to tease his fingers between her legs until she trembled.

When they finally fell onto the bed, she ached to feel him inside her again. Cedric slipped his pants off then climbed over top of her. The feel of his body covering hers, his hips nestled between her thighs, sent a thrill racing through her stomach. They kissed in long, deep strokes. His hand move between them, positioning himself. As he pushed carefully forward, the sensation proved wholly different from the first time. She moaned, feeling no pain, only acute pleasure at being filled so completely.

She shifted her legs up around his hips, quickly discovering the deeper, fuller sensation of him sliding against her from this angle. He found a strong, steady motion and before long she was clinging to his shoulders, gasping as her hips rocked up to meet his. She couldn't get enough of the friction of their bodies as the pressure low in her belly climbed. The pleasure seemed to reach capacity and she writhed under him, whimpering with a need she didn't know how to fulfill. He seemed to understand, or perhaps it was just a serendipitous coincidence that he picked up speed, moving harder against her.

Sofia's nails scratched down his back as she tightened against him, her legs wrapped around his waist drawing him in deeper. Her thoughts tangled up on themselves, only able to contemplate the sense that is all felt _so right_. So absolutely, goddess-damned perfect. Her husband looming over her, making divine, wild love to her. It was like someone else had taken over when her caressing lips parted and she bit his shoulder. Cedric groaned, tipping her face back towards his, devouring her lips. All the sensations of touch and taste and feeling combined, building and building inside her until something had to give. She shattered without warning, crying out against his mouth.

She lost all sense of time, clutching at the bunched muscles of his back, trying to remember how to breath as her body pulsed in long, rhythmic strokes. When she finally fell into a weak, panting heap beneath him, she registered that he'd stopped.

"Alright there, my love?"

She blinked her eyes open to find Cedric smiling down at her looking decidedly pleased with himself. She grinned back, sharing a moment of pure understanding.

"I'm just fine, thank you," she purred in a smoky whisper, before snaking her fingers into his hair, drawing him down into another kiss like the last.

His gathered her against him and began the slow rocking dance of his hips again.

* * *

Bedraggled was a term Sofia had heard often enough, but had no real concept of until that morning. Her hair was a hopeless tangle and her nightgown creased from spending the night crumpled up on the floor. No lady's maid by any stretch, Cedric tried his best to run a comb through her curls, taming the worst of the snarls and making her look moderately presentable. She washed her face with the water in the basin.

They'd tarried too long. The sun was up, which meant the servants were about. Getting to her room undetected would be far more difficult now, but still she lingered, not wanting to leave the seclusion of his room. Cedric sat on the bed in a fresh pair of trousers, buttoning up his shirt. She frowned as all his lovely tattoos vanished from view. There had been little time to examine them, and she was ever so curious about the large, intricate collection of glyphs that dominated his upper back, as well as the tantalizing trail of runes that lined his spine. She couldn't seem to help herself as she drifted over, running her fingers through his hair, tipping his head back for a kiss.

"Stop that," he grumbled after a long moment, pressing her reluctantly away. Despite having her twice in one night, her wanton smile still made his member twitch. "At this rate the king and queen will have to lay siege to the tower before I let you out."

She leaned next to his ear, whispering in a husky lilt, "I'd be your willing prisoner."

A tortured groan rumbled up his throat, only moderately certain she hadn't meant to conjure up images involving his bed, some satin ties, and her naked body spread across the sheets. "Great Goddess, you're not a wife. You're a succubus sent to kill me with your insatiable ways."

 _A cheeky succubus_ , he decided when she merely giggled in reply.

"So," she eased mercifully away from him, allowing the blood to route back to his brain, "How do we sneak me back to my room now?"

"At this hour? We don't."

"What?"

He bent to lace his shoes. "I'm not sneaking you anywhere. I'll simply walk you down the hallway to your door."

"B-but," she stuttered, "I can't go walking through the castle like this."

"No, I suppose not." He took his royal robes from a hook on the wall, draping the heavy velvet over her shoulders. Sofia snuggled into it at once, pulling the sleeves up her arms and tying the sash. He plucked up a spare wand. "Now hold still."

His wand swept over her and she struggled to obey as magic hummed along her skin. The loose clothing shifted, fitting to her frame. When he lowered his wand, she found his robe transfigured into a gown. The rich plum velvet hugged her waist, flaring out around her hips. A stripe of satin ran around the neck line and down the center of the dress, reminiscent of his lapels. She turned this way and that, utterly enchanted.

"I will expect that back," he drawled, deciding it was his lot now that she looked better in his clothing than he did. "Are you ready?"

Sofia looked up from her new gown, a frown creasing the space between her eyes. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be to tell my parents I've gotten secretly married in the middle of the night."

Her fingers twisted together, and Cedric had to remind himself to breath around the rough waves of anxiety buffeting him. Her fear prickled over his skin like crawling insects and he struggled not to chaff his hands over his arms to alleviate the feeling. He settled for crossing them tightly over his chest. Sofia seemed blithely unaware of the struggle unfolding inside him, which was how he wanted things for now.

 _It will fade_ , he told himself. Just residue from that damned witch's spell. It would fade. It had to.

"I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be." She sighed, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Do we have to tell them?"

 _Ifreann diabhal, no_! he wanted to say. It would be so much easier if she just went down to breakfast, pretended everything was as it should be and nothing had changed overnight. Then she could simply tell her parents that she planned to spend the day on some new experiment or potion with Mister Cedric. Her family would be none the wiser, and they could spend the day uninterrupted, locked in his bedroom doing some experimenting of their own.

As pleasant a fantasy as that was, his shoulders dropped because he knew it would never sit right with her to lie to her family. Most especially about something as important as this. Besides, he knew she'd only meant the question rhetorically.

 _Damn it_ , a small voice whispered. He could well imagine the chaos that the announcement of their impromptu nuptials was about to set off. It was going to be a very long day.

And telling her family was the _easy_ part ...

Taking his wife by the hand, he drew her in close. "I love you."

"Don't you mean, is breá liom tú." She beamed up at him, ridiculously proud of herself.

"Yes," he laughed, his heart swelling with adoration. Great Goddess, how he loved her. He'd never loved anyone or anything the way he loved her, and the foreign emotion was taking him over, filling him up, healing parts of him thought long broken and best left forgotten.

Merlin's Mushrooms, he was about to face down the king and queen, letting them know he'd just married their youngest daughter. He never thought himself capable of such fortitude. In truth, he wasn't capable, but Sofia lent him strength. Living his whole life alone, depending only on himself, he'd never trusted in the skills or strengths of others, and he struggled to do so now. Sofia, as always, proved the exception to the rule.

In the past lust was always a solitary emotion for him, unaccompanied and uncomplicated by any other, deeper feelings. But looking into his new wife's blue eyes, he was swamped by a tangle of longing, desire, love and devotion. He pressed her suddenly against the wall, kissing her with a hunger that drew a moan from the back of her throat.

When he finally let her breath, she smirked up at him. "Now, who's insatiable?"

His laughed, slightly unsteady and overwhelmed. "I love you," he said again, "You believe that, right?"

"Of course." She took his face between her hands, looking into his worried eyes. "I love you too, Cedric. Everything is going to be alright."

His nodded, swallowing thickly. Sofia slipped her arms about his shoulder, hugging him. He squeezed her back, crushing her to his chest. A bubble of panic welled inside him, and this time the feeling was all his own. He didn't know why he was afraid, just that he knew what lay ahead of them was going to be difficult. Sofia could endure, that much he was certain. Her tenacity would serve her well. As for him... well he'd have to dig deeper than he ever had, and plumbing the depths of his devotion for her was downright terrifying. Not because he thought he'd break, but because he feared he wouldn't. When something was difficult, it was his modus operandi to give up.

You can't fail if you never try.

But he was damn sure going to try at this...

Which made failure a very real possibility. He was no stranger to failure, they were old acquaintances unfortunately, but he'd never wanted to _not_ fail at something so hard in his life.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered again.

"I know," he muttered against her hair, though he didn't feel he knew that at all.

- _The end ... for now_

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, I got away with myself again. Forget about an epilogue, because there is going to be a sequel. I feel like playing with magic. :D

The sequel will be called Binding Ties. What will be in it? Lots of magic, more sex, not to mention magic sex, some trials and tribulations, and did I mention sex? Lol, okay, but seriously. What is going on with Cedric's new awareness of Sofia? What does it mean? Why will it be harder to tell his family about their marriage than hers? How will Sofia's family and peers react to her decision to marry "below" her station? And what kind of stress will all this put on our poor newlyweds?

Please leave a review. You seriously have no idea how they inspire me and keep me writing. You guys are the best. :D


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